


The Breadth of Winter

by lampshaded



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1900s, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Magical Realism, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28821927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lampshaded/pseuds/lampshaded
Summary: Governor Yuuri Katsuki takes up employment on a grand estate in the isolated and rural country of Threnia. Though he’d taught the children of wealthy families for the past ten years, he wasn’t quite prepared for his new pupil.Historical and Ballet AU with some fantasy/magic elements. This story takes place in a fictional time based roughly at the turn of the 20th century.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 18
Kudos: 54





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story features themes including ableism and low self-esteem. I also feel that Yuri’s foul temper should be mentioned. Please note that the countries and cultures portrayed in this story are fiction, and that any cultural appropriation within this fantasy world is not intended by the author. Also, I own none of these characters and receive no compensation for this piece of fiction. That being said, please do not repost this story. Instead, feel free to link to this page. 
> 
> This is piece is very much a WIP and I've posted this prologue to get some feedback. I don't expect anything in this first part to change, but it is possible. Any changes will be noted in future chapters. 
> 
> Lastly, if you like it, please leave a comment! They are the fuel authors love most.

**Prologue**

Yuuri sipped at his half-empty teacup and replaced it with a light clink onto its saucer. Its contents had long gone cold and bitter, but his attention was firmly fixed on his studies and had been for hours. His fountain pen scratched another few words onto the page of notes in his journal, then he paused and hummed in thought. He scanned the textbook again, glanced at the small, leather-bound book in his hand, and jotted down another note. His small-lettered, neat handwriting covered his journal’s well-thumbed through pages. The hardbound journal had several small newspaper clippings and bits of other stuff that were used as markers that stuck out in intervals. Its edges were worn and some of the pages a bit frayed. 

The day was a dreary one, with the cold kind of drizzly rain only early spring could provide. It blanketed the city in a sooty fog and obscured the small window to the side of his secretary desk. Objects crowded around the books in front of him. A smudged couple of pens with worn nibs stood with a tin letter-opener in a glass jar beside a corked well of ink. A small stack of correspondence from his mother was bound in twine and leaned on a stack of empty envelopes. Additionally, a rather clunky, second-hand ink blotter and a small glass oil lamp shared the modest space with him. A bit of green sealing wax threatened to fall off of the edge of the desk. Despite wearing his twill house coat, the room had grown chill as the dim daylight waned. Yuuri abscently turned up the flame on the little lamp and peered through his wire-rimmed glasses at the small print of the textbook again. 

“You haven’t left your desk all day, have you?” his roommate asked, startling him. Pichit leaned on the door frame, still in his long, double-breasted wool coat. It was unbuttoned and hung over his suit. He directed a knowing half-smile at his flatmate.

“Hm?” Yuuri hummed, looking up rather blearily. “I didn’t hear you come in,” Yuuri said with a stretch and a long yawn. He set his glasses aside and rubbed his face. “How was the anatomy lab?”

With a Cheshire grin Pichit hopped up to perch on the stool by Yuuri’s wash stand. He then launched into the lecture he’d attended and the animal skeleton they had studied. Yuuri smiled with warmth at his friend’s enthusiasm as he listened.

Pichit was his best friend and roommate of three years. Though he’d originally studied political science, he’d stepped into their kitchen one morning and declared that he’d decided to become a doctor. 

That sort of before-morning-coffee, life-altering change was very much like Pichit. Yuuri had just nodded and asked if he’d like one or two eggs for breakfast. He was much more practically-minded like that. 

Though it wasn’t a necessarily well-paying career, as a doctor he would be able to travel constantly and would always be able to find work. Amongst all the things that Pichit loved, he loved travel most chiefly. It enabled him to meet new people, which he also dearly loved.

It hadn’t taken him long to sort out the university paperwork, and soon Pitchat was attending lectures about everything from Anatomy & Physiology to Modern Noxious Diseases. The former he found interesting and the latter he seemed to be oddly fascinated with.

Like Yuuri, he was from the Korokine Provinces, though from another island. They were similar in age and had both traveled to the mainland to study at the University of Cafon, in Alensia’s capital. They’d become fast friends almost as soon as they had met. They were both avid readers and learners, they both liked foreign languages and ballet, and had an interest in medicine. 

The healing waters of Yuuri’s family’s onsen were well-known in the Korokine Provinces. And like the inn and onsen, his mother’s knowledge of the healing arts had been passed down from her mother, and her mother’s mother. But Yuuri’s sister, Mari, was much more like their father, and preferred to manage the inn. Even from a young age Yuuri had shown much more interest in helping his mother with guests who had come to be healed of their ailments. So she had taken him as her assistant and Yuuri had learned much.

The morning before he’d left to attend university, his mother had presented him with a healer’s case much like her own. Its many drawers had been perfectly filled with glass jars of herbs and the necessary tools had been tucked into its velvet-lined compartments. It sat in the corner of his tidy little room, next to his wash stand.

Pichit had been delighted to learn about Yuuri’s family’s healing remedies and had watched with eager eyes as Yuuri had shown him the contents of the case. In turn, Yuuri had steadily been picking up some Alensian medicinal knowledge through Pichit’s studies.

As for ballet, Yuuri had always held it the highest regard. As a child he’d been enchanted by etchings depicting ballerinas and danseurs in newspapers imported from Alensia. From a young age he’d always been able to mimic physical actions, and especially dances, quickly. He’d learned how to do a handstand, a flip, a cartwheel, and had even taught himself to swim by simply watching. But ballet was native to the country of Alensia and few knew much about it at all in the Province.

When he’d learned that ballet was taught at Cafon University, he’d immediately requested to join the beginners’ courses, and had rapidly excelled at the subject. Indeed, Yuuri had readily accepted the ballet master’s offer to tutor him instead of applying for the intermediate and advanced courses. And excel Yuuri did. His teacher lamented that while Yuuri loved the subject, he didn’t believe a danseur’s lifestyle was for him. He didn’t care for the crowds, for one thing, and he also preferred to practice alone.

In his classes he focused on his form, and his professor taught them small snippets of larger works to study and perfect. As a fellow dance student, sometimes Pichit practiced with him during the evenings, but although he loved ballet, he was just as excited to be with a large group of friends in the  _ cafes _ .

While his university friends had crowded into the popular _nouveau_ _cafes_ hoping to meet pretty young women, Yuuri preferred to find the university’s dance studio empty so he could fill it with nothing but his thoughts of ballet. 

“But Yuuri,” Pichit suddenly exclaimed, cutting himself off mid-explanation about the similarities between human and swine circulatory systems. “Weren’t you going to take the five-thirty train?”

Yuuri’s eyes snapped to the small, ticking clock at his bedside. He indeed had planned to, but it was already five-fifteen. He sprang up and rushed to open the drawers below his desk. He managed to do so without unloading and closing the desk, but his sealing wax did topple off and roll somewhere underneath the furniture. His arms caught in his house coat as he hurriedly tried to pull it off. Still in his own coat, Pichit readily assisted him.

“I’ll have to get a Hansom,” Yuuri said, hurriedly pulling on his best pair of trousers. They tapered fashionably to his black leather shoes, which, thankfully, he had buffed and shined the night previous.

“All the money you spent on the ticket, I would think you’d be able to think of little else today.” Pichit quipped, buttoning his bracers at his low back. “But, I suppose it is the Platinum Prince, after all.”

“I know,” Yuuri lamented, tucking and straightening his shirt. “I know. But the essay couldn’t wait.”

As Pichit helped him into his jacket, Yuuri couldn’t help but risk a quick glance at the danseur in question’s visage on the poster on his wall.

Such spectacularly colored posters often graced the brick of alley walls and the porcelain tiles in train depots. The nouveau-style printed depictions of the danseurs were dressed in elaborate costumes and they often wore elaborate hats and masks. The danseurs on the posters had handsome faces and their poses were elegant and poised. Gazing up at those posters,  Yuuri had at once admitted to himself, rather shyly, that he preferred the Prince’s aesthetic over any of the others’. He had furtively taken one of the Prince’s posters from one of the lesser-frequented halls of the depot, folded it, and stowed it in his briefcase. Since then, it had held a place of honor on the wall above his pillow.

With quick and nimble fingers, Pichit neatly tied his neck-tie as Yuuri fastened his plain, silver-plated cufflinks. Cramped by hours of writing, his fingers were less dextrous and while fiddling with the task, his mind unhelpfully jumped back two evenings. It was when he’d last danced, and excited as he was to soon see a new performance, he’d barely been able to concentrate. 

As it was, Yuuri was often alone in the ballet studio. As one of the few allowed to have special tutoring by the ballet master, he had his own key. It was there that he practiced the famous pieces from his idols like the “Showmaker”, Alensian Christophe Giacometti, the “Swooning Lover”, Georgi Popovich from Threnia, and he soon hoped to add the a piece from the repertoire of the danseur only known as the “Platinum Prince”. 

The stage names were showy, and despite being borderline ridiculous at times, they pleased the crowds. Unlike his contemporaries, the Platinum Prince chose to keep his personal identity apart from his career. Little was known about the man, other than the newspapers’ rather poorly-contrived speculation on whether or not he was an actual prince by blood. 

While once popular, concealing one’s name behind a stage alias was considered old-fashioned, and was a rather bold move for a young man. Instead of negatively affecting his popularity, the Platinum Prince was viewed as mysterious, and he had quickly become the most well-known danseur of the time. Indeed, the single ticket which had cost Yuuri two months’ income.

When he was honest, he had often admitted to himself that those hours in the dimness of the dancing studio granted him the most profound sense of peace. In good conscience Yuuri had easily dismissed his friends’ invitations to cafes almost every weekend so that he could “study”.

Stiffly-sitting ladies in pretty hats and lacy shawls in the  _ cafes _ could never hold his esteem like Giacometti’s perfectly executed  _ grande jeté.  _ And that very evening Yuuri would finally see the Prince dance for the first time. He was sure that his solo,  _ Stammi vicino, non te ne andare, _ would be worth every penny he’d spent on the ticket. As per the papers, the two men were grand celebrities and good friends with each other and Yuuri hoped to catch a glimpse of them both after the program, if Giacometti attended the performance, as he often did.

“Go, go!” Pichit had laughed, handing him his ticket and pushing Yuuri toward the door as soon as he had his coat settled onto his shoulders. And so as he hastened down the stairs and out of the building he labored to tie his scarf around his neck, button his coat, and catch his hat before it toppled from his head and onto the wet cobblestone of the street. Even in the quiet of the neighborhood, the hansoms were plenty, and Yuuri had little trouble flagging one down. In all the hustle, Yuuri’s opera glasses still sat, quite forgotten, in their leather case, atop the little table beside his front-door.

The hansom clacked through the din of the busier streets of central Cafon. Though the evening was still uncomfortably dim and damp, the rain had let up. Gentlemen in tall hats and lacy-shawled ladies with small parasols milled between other carriages and carts. Occasionally, one could see a motor-car parked, but they were chiefly used only by those who could afford such new and expensive things and quite few indeed were out in such dismal weather.   
Street lamps lit the wet cobblestone and the wide windows of the shops they passed glowed from within, their wares crowded into brightly-colored displays. Yuuri mostly focused on eating the mutton-and-chive hand pie he’d hastily bought for a shilling from a vendor’s cart outside his building. He dearly hoped he wouldn’t get any of the flaky bits of pastry on his freshly-brushed coat.

Yuuri arrived at the theatre just in time, as the valets would soon be closing the doors. There was only a short line left and the theatre had been all but filled with eager patrons. Indeed, Yuuri saw that the crowd had taken every seat as he was shown to his own, in the next to the last row to the very back, on the highest balcony. Once he slipped past the other members of his row and had settled into his seat, his attention was completely taken by the stage. 

Yuuri loved the beautiful, heavy velvet curtains of the stage, and these, in Cafon’s oldest and most renown theatre, were of the richest navy as he’d ever seen. He could make out the swirls of plaster that embellished the stage. They had been echoed on the columns of the grand staircase. And then the lights dimmed and the crowd hushed as the ballet began.

Though all of the dancers had the utmost grace, none could match the Platinum Prince when he appeared on the stage. He was immaculate and absolutely stunning in his brightly colored outfit. The glass beads scattered across his torso sparkled and glittered in the stage lights. He was a tall man but was all long-limbed grace. Neither was a trait that Yuuri could ever hope to achieve. 

His long, pale hair caught the light and it swirled around him as he’d lept and spun. It suddenly became very evident to Yuuri why the danseur was named the Platinum Prince. The lithograph prints on the posters could never hope to capture the brilliance and shine of his hair. More than once Yuuri dearly wished he’d not forgotten his pair of opera-glasses. But even from the back of the theatre, he could see the gleam of the jeweled crown on the Prince’s head as he danced to the orchestra’s lovely and melancholy tune. 

The man’s grace was so great that by the end of the ballet, Yuuri’s eyes were wet with emotion. His hands trembled as he gripped them together, trying his best to memorize the danseur’s solo. It had been his favorite, by far, out of the ballets that he’d seen since moving to Cafon.

After the performance, standing within the bustle of the exiting crowd, the Platinum Prince reappeared in the dim streetlight and met with his patrons. Someone even had a camera and even a tray with flash powder set up to take commemorative photos, it seemed. Once seen, the crowd converged on the danseur and tightly surrounded him. Hopeful, Yuuri pressed in nearer, but it was in vain.

Though Yuuri stood on tip-toe and craned his neck, he couldn’t catch a glimpse of anything more than the back of the Prince’s pale head. Nor could he push through the crowd to get any closer. Soft flakes of snow fell from the sky and had begun to whiten the cracks between the cobblestone.

The wind blew down the street and it became evident that it would be a quite cold night. The crowd murmured and bustled loudly in front of the theatre. After a while the danseur disappeared back inside the building and the doors were shut. 

Yuuri headed toward the train depot to catch the last train of the night, contenting himself with seeing anything at all of the Prince and his especially his awe-inspiring dance.

  
  


A beautiful spring came and went in the city. As did a mild summer, damp autumn, and an even wetter winter. Yuuri’s final semester was almost entirely composed of writing lengthy essays of research. He had few lectures and thus had more time to enjoy the city. He often went on walks and especially liked to sit on the wrought iron and wood benches in Cafon’s parks to do his reading and to jot down notes.

As it was Spring and was yet another rainy day in a series of the same, Yuuri often found himself doing his reading in one of the  _ cafes _ frequented by his friends. It was mid-afternoon and was mostly empty, as the venue only hosted musicians in the evening. 

The little shop’s daytime hostess was an elderly lady who doted a bit on Yuuri when he stopped in. She seemed to appreciate that he used his time in the  _ cafe _ to study, rather than for social or romantic pursuits, and often gave him little extras from the kitchen. Besides, he was often the only patron in the middle of the afternoon.

That afternoon she set down a plate with a couple of dainty, jam-filled pastries dusted with icing sugar as she refilled his teacup and gave him a copy of that day’s newspaper. She took his warm thanks and disappeared back through the swinging kitchen door.

The pastry was flaky and finely made. He hummed in delight at their sweet raspberry filling. He sipped his warm tea and put his books to the side.

The first page of the newspaper mostly spoke of some international politics and of discord in the worker’s unions in the factories by the docks. But when Yuuri turned to the second page an article caught his eye and he abruptly dropped the entire paper in shock. Then, with fumbling hands he scrambled to pick it back up. Though the action knocked his plate of pastries off of the cafe table and had likely been broken, his eyes didn’t stray from the page. 

The internationally-renowned danseur known as the Platinum Prince had been in a fatal motor-car accident. As his spilled tea soaked through the newsprint, Yuuri’s breath caught in his lungs as he read on. 

Though his driver hadn’t survived, the Platinum Prince had, but he had immediately announced his complete retirement from the stage. 

The paper’s writer went on to say that the news of his sudden retirement was shocking, as the Prince was at the very height of his internationally-known career. That he’d danced in all the greatest theatres, and even for the Alensian royal family. They had little other news about the incident, aside from a bit of speculation. There had been no eye-witnesses. With numb fingers Yuuri righted his empty teacup.

For months afterward the papers speculated about the danseur’s location and of his well-being, but Yuuri could find little truth in their increasingly far-fetched articles. Eventually the man stopped being mentioned at all. And though Yuuri had kept a weather eye out, the Platinum Prince’s name hadn’t graced the headlines since. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: Any countries or cultures depicted are only loosely based on a mixture of real countries and cultures. Because this story is set in a fantasy AU world, there are no such places as Japan, Europe, Russia, etc, and their fictional equivalents are not meant to be faithful to reality.
> 
> This chapter contains a fair bit of exposition. Things will begin to pick up soon, I promise. As always, thank you for your kudos and kind comments!

Morning on the Northern Sea dawned cloudy and brisk. The wind had picked up; it could only be described as blustery and uncomfortably chilly. It hurt the ears and nipped the skin between coat sleeve and glove. The calls of gulls and crash of the waves were the only sounds louder than the ever-present bustle of the crowd milling on the damp wood of the docks. The air smelled of briny seawater and of the powdery doughnuts being sold in the corner shop, next to the ticket booth. Sooty coal smoke rose from the factories next to the dockyard and hung in the air, mingling with the fog.

Children dodged in and out of the clusters of people, their laughter and shouts cheerful and shrill. Two lanky fellows hefted suitcases onto a long trolley, a mustachioed man on a platform called out boarding numbers into a tin megaphone, a baby in a blanket-draped perambulator wailed, and somewhere over all the din, Yuuri could hear a the cathedral’s bells ringing from deeper in the city. Ever present beside it all, the gray waves beat against the wooden pier and the steel hull of the ship towering next to the dock rocked with them. It sat fairly deep in the water, loaded with goods bound for export. Black smoke rose from its stacks. 

“You know this is a bit crazy, right?” Pichit said, standing close beside him. His dark eyes twinkled at the notion. Despite his smile, his words were half encouraging and half chiding. “Not like you at all.”

Yuuri just huffed a small laugh. The sound took the form of a wispy puff that vanished immediately in the chilly breeze.

“I am aware.” He said, smiling with warmth as he shook his friend’s hand. “And I completely agree.”

“I will miss your breakfasts,” Pichit said a bit more soberly, holding onto Yuuri’s hand and giving it a squeeze through the layers of their gloves. “You must take care of yourself, and write often.”

“I shall,” Yuuri promised, doing the same. “And you can get your breakfast at the corner  _ cafe _ .” 

“The company will be sadly lacking though,” Pichit whined, smiling again and looking earnest as he stepped back.

“All the more reason for you to study instead.” Yuuri laughed. They bid their final goodbyes and Yuuri stepped around the rope stanchion to join the boarding line.

While Pichit was wearing a local, bespoke pinstriped wool coat and matching hat, his cravat was from the far Western Isles, and his shining pocket-watch from the southern continent. A blue plume from some exotic bird bobbed where it was tucked in his hat-band. His loud clothing and jaunty grin stuck out in many a crowd. It was much more like Pichit to go on an impulsive journey, but for once, he was the one waving from the dock.

Yuuri was much more quietly dressed than his friend, in his black robes and matching coat. Though some educators in the large, liberally-minded cities of Alensia wore regular suit coats and trousers, Yuuri was headed to a much more conservative location. There, he wouldn’t be considered a governor without his educator’s robes on. They signified not only his profession, but his station. His coat was a thick, double-breasted black wool. It had a fashionably high collar and shining silver buttons that fastened into a double set of black frogging that stretched across his chest. It had been expensive, but Yuuri wanted to have a heavy coat before he left. He was sure to need it.

Yuuri waved down from the upper deck of the ship, his life neatly tucked into the briefcase in his hand. The rest of his modest luggage had been sent on the day prior. The spray was cold on the outer deck and his face and ears were already chilled. Even the bright blue of Pichit’s plume quickly became lost in the crowd. 

Yuuri hefted his suitcase and hastened inside. His cabin was only up one narrow flight of stairs. He took hold of the rope-handle that led him up as the ship gently rocked beneath his boots. The wind blew in at the lower entry and the corridor was drafty. At the landing, his cabin was just to the left, not difficult to find. About two dozen others had already settled onto the wooden, pew-like benches inside. They faced each other in neat rows and were sturdy and fastened to the wooden slats of the floor.

Pichit had it right, Yuuri idly thought as he settled into a seat by a long window. The gray waves churned and the ship swayed with them. The warmth of the cabin stung the tips of his ears and fingers. He rubbed his gloved hands together.

Somewhere above the cabin a bell rang sharply three times, and moments later they began to move. In a matter of minutes both the dockyard and even the mountainous figures of the factories grew hazy and vanished in the heavy fog. The wooden supports of the cabin creaked as the ship made its way north, toward the vast and rural country of Threnia. Yes, Pichit was right. It was a bit crazy.

According to the clock hung near the door, they were three hours in and the scenery hadn’t changed one bit. Yuuri braced his elbow on the wooden window jamb and rested his chin in the palm of his leather glove. He wondered if Threnian buildings looked anything like those in Alensia. Though originally from the Korokine Province to the far east, he’d lived in Alensia for most of his adult life. He’d gone to Cafon University, in its large and glittering capital of the same name, and he’d lived there since. In the past ten years Yuuri had a good view of all the modernization of the city.

Cafon, like the other large cities in Alensia, had met the dawn of the new century with all the enthusiasm that the new age of modernity afforded. Gone was the sleepy, fishing-town turned harbor-city of decades past. Gone were many of its quaint rows of brightly-painted wooden houses. Recent innovations in steel and architecture had allowed its brick buildings to rise into towering heights. Its windows glittered from within at all times of the day and night with new electric light bulbs. On the street corners there was even talk amongst the leeries that the lamp-posts would soon be converted to be lit by electricity. 

Gone was the age of the master and the apprentice. In their place, large factories could mass-produce everything from fabrics to iron and steel. Few of the old wooden ships were still seen in its harbor. Horses and carriages had been joined by the chugging and popping of motor-cars. They were a fantastically modern, but were a rather noisy and smelly invention that only the most wealthy could afford. Though they never got a chance of it in the city, rumor was that they could go faster than even a lone rider on horseback. The newspapers sometimes spoke of celebrities that would race each other in the countryside.

As a young man, Yuuri had enjoyed the city’s brilliance as he’d studied in its centuries-old and highly distinguished university. He’d moved from the Korokine Provence long enough ago that he could barely remember the person he was before he was able to navigate the city’s cobblestone streets and the tight bustle of its crowd. He wondered how much different his new life would be.

He was sure to miss the city, he knew, but he also was sure that the change of pace would be good for him, especially since he was no longer a fresh-faced lad, just out of college. Yuuri idly wondered if Threnia would be as tranquil as he remembered the bamboo forests around his home in the Korokine Provinces had been. He remembered the feel of the summer-warm sand sinking between his wet toes. The flash of tiny fish in the shallows. Cool, beautiful blue water as far as you could see. 

But Threnia was a large country much farther to the north and it had a much cooler climate than Yuuri had experienced before. Yuuri felt like he knew too little about the country as a whole. He would need to do a lot of reading before he thought he would feel comfortable knowledgeable about it. 

The ship swayed to the side as a tall wave crashed against it, frothing up Yuuri’s window. Yuuri felt a swirl of nausea as the ship tilted the other direction, just as readily. A few of the passengers made noises of complaint and resettled themselves. Yuuri pulled a thick piece of candy from his pocket, unwrapped it from its wax-paper, and popped it in his mouth. He sighed at the spicy bite of the sugar-covered ginger. He wondered if his mother still made ginger candies for the children of travelers that stopped at their inn. The familiar curl of guilt settled in his stomach as the thought that he should at least write to her surfaced in his mind. He looked out at the dreary gray sea.

Four more hours later, they stopped at a small port in northern Alensia. A few passengers left, and a few more boarded. Yuuri could see little of the place outside his window through the late evening gloom. He excused himself to the toilet that was just off of the drafty hall just outside their cabin. He’d just regained his seat when they were off again, creaking and swaying. 

He admitted to himself that he had forgotten how dull travel could be. It had been years since he’d left Cafon, let alone been outside of Alensia. The constant movement of the ship didn’t necessarily lend itself to book reading. Yuuri slowly sighed and glanced around the cabin again. The room was filled with several new passengers. Like him, many remained in their coats and travelling cloaks. Some read books, others drowsed. A man two rows in front of Yuuri coughed and blew his nose with a blue handkerchief. 

Yuuri resettled himself in his seat. While the ship wasn’t the newest, it was one of the ones that had been recently refashioned. He’d read of the project in the newspapers a couple years previous. The wooden boards of the floor had been sanded and revarnished, the kerosene lamps were updated and had bubble-speckled glass globes, and each of the bench-seats were adorned with a long, flax-colored cushion. Yuuri was glad for these luxuries, especially for the bench-cushions, and felt rather lucky that the ship he’d been instructed to board had them. 

Just as he began to mentally rehearse his travel directions, a small, tow-headed boy caught his eye from the row of seats in front of him. He and his mother were some of the recent passengers to board. 

He was dressed in an itchy-looking dun tweed jacket with a matching pair of breeches. His little cap was askew. His hair was wind-blown and one of his stockings had come loose and drooped around his ankle. His exposed knee sported a nearly-healed scuff. He was too short to do more than kick his tidily-laced, well-worn shoes in the air below his seat, sitting on his hands. Yuuri smiled at him and the boy grinned back brightly, revealing two missing teeth. His mother knitted on beside him, looking drowsy.

An idea sprung up and Yuuri furtively glanced at the passengers beside him. To his right an elderly man read a newspaper through a magnifying glass. To his left a middle-aged man nodded off. Satisfied, Yuuri furtively flicked his fingers at the boy and moved his hand a quarter-turn clockwise. A tiny wooden horse popped up on the seat next to his small knee. Silently, it reared up, pranced in a circle, and then went still.

The boy looked up in wide-eyed wonder, his mouth falling open. Yuuri gave him a wink. Delighted, the child picked up the toy and began to play with it on his legs. His mother fell against the window. Mildly entertained, Yuuri smiled to himself and idly watched.

Though known in Korokine, the use of magic was almost forgotten in the much more modern Alensia. Yuuri knew that in many parts it only lived on in legends and tales told by those who did not glorify the new, modern age of industrialization. Though he’d known a few of those who had the mage-spark when he was a child, he’d never met another after moving to Alensia. Neither his parents nor his sister had it, so Yuuri had used his magic mostly for his own entertainment. He’d made the little wooden horse countless times as a child. He could only produce temporary illusions, so it was of little use to him. Pichit had always been delighted by it though. 

During his time in university and behind locked doors and drawn curtains, Yuuri had allowed his magic to fill the empty ballet studio with the music of a full orchestra as he practiced those famous dances he’d only seen once and had memorized with intent eyes. Alone in the recesses of the university’s darkened theatre hall he came alive like he never seemed to be able to anywhere else. It was one of the things he sorely immediately missed once he was no longer a student. 

As it happened, after they both graduated, Pichit had a friend of a friend who had been in dire need of a short-term governor for his three children. 

As he was unemployed, Yuuri had taken the job with some trepidation, not truly knowing what he was stepping into. To his surprise, he found that he not only thoroughly enjoyed it, but that he was also learned enough that the position required little study of his own. And then, few months later, he took another job as a governor, and despite his previous idea of becoming a multi-language translator, he knew that he’d found his calling. 

Due to those years Yuuri had spent helping his mother to check fevers, brew teas, mix salves, massage sore muscles, and apply bandages, Yuuri had been prepared when children under his care fell ill to the usual winter gamut of sniffles and fevers. His well-rounded education had given him the title of governor with relative ease, as he was confident with every subject from world history to arithmetic, knew four languages, and could passibly play the piano. 

As it was, Yuuri had no trouble securing work with four families over the course of the past ten years. Two of the families had eventually moved from the city, and he’d only taught the daughter of his most recent employer for two years before she had gone to finishing school.

Since then, Yuuri had been without work for a couple months, but as an alum, he’d been granted access to Cafon University’s large library. Rather guiltily, he knew he should have been looking for work sooner, but he’d gotten caught up reading. It was nothing his saved finances couldn’t handle, but he knew he shouldn’t have spent so much of his time holed up in the comfortably over-stuffed chairs in the library. Besides, he truly missed being around the children.

They were quite trying at times, Yuuri thought as he watched the boy tug on his mother’s sleeve. She drowsily tutted at him and shook her head. But how he loved teaching them and watching them grow, both in stature and in mind. He’d even kept up correspondence with his most recent pupil, the young lady who was away at finishing school. As always, she was ever eager to share her paintings and about their subjects. She particularly favored landscapes.

Each of Yuuri’s previous jobs had been rewarding, especially those with difficult children. It only took a short while for a sullen, frustrated, and bored child to warm to his lessons. It certainly helped that Yuuri wasn’t like most of the other governors. He thought them stuffy and their droning dreadfully boring. Instead, he had an enthusiasm for each subject that suffused his lessons, even his least-favorite, arithmetic. What Yuuri loved best is when the children began to sit up in their chairs and started to ask him “how?” and “why?”. 

Though many of his friends had married and had children of their own, Yuuri had never felt the same compulsion. Especially after ten years of working as a governor, Yuuri was perfectly content to continue teaching the children of others. 

The roughness of the sea only increased the perceived length of their voyage, Yuuri thought, feeling rather irritable. The boy eventually fell asleep and the little wooden horse not soon after vanished in a wisp of smoke in his loosely-curled fist. His mother had to wake him when the ship docked again about five hours later. Yuuri idly watched as she tugged him along. He drowsily followed behind her, rubbing at his half-open eyes. 

Yuuri stared out of his rain-streaked window at the gas-lamps of the port-town. The cold air wafting in smelled slightly smoky and sooty. It was too dark out for him to be able to read the signs lit by gas lamps, but he knew they were still in Alensia, just at the Threnian border. 

The room had emptied out almost entirely. Only a short, rotund man with spectacles was left, hunched over some paperwork and a book. He’d taken advantage of the space and had spread his materials and his open briefcase across his bench-seat. Suppressing a shiver from the fresh sea air the compartment door had let in, Yuuri crossed his arms around him more firmly and tucked his cold, gloved hands under them. 

He could conjure some heat, but like everything else he could make, it would be an illusion. While it would feel nice, his body would actually remain chilled. The ship’s bell rang thrice. There were no new passengers at this port. A moment later Yuuri could feel its motion as they began to move forward. 

Night fell earlier in Threnia, Yuuri knew, but the rain clouds had blotted out any daylight in the mid-afternoon, lengthening the evening. The ship rocked as it crested over the cold waters. Yuuri ate another ginger candy. He’d finished his cold chicken sandwich an hour previous and slightly regretted his decision to eat the entire thing in one go. He wondered what kind of food Threnia had. He’d read somewhere that they relied more on root vegetables than grains, and had few fruits. The northern climate didn’t allow a long or warm growing season. Many foods were salted or pickled, and fish and game were both common. He knew little of the country, and even less about his potential employer.

It was somewhat odd, Yuuri thought as he idly shifted in his seat, that his potential employer wished to remain anonymous until a governor was hired. It was even more so that the employer was not only willing to pay for Yuuri’s expenses to travel all the way from Cafon to his estate to meet for the interview, but he would also pay for his travel expenses back, should he not take the job. 

But Yuuri was unfamiliar with Threnian customs, as the country as a whole was not only fiercely traditional, but also much more private than others. He only knew that it lacked the technological and industrial advances its much smaller and more wealthy neighbors had made.

Yuuri’s potential employer had been formally cordial in his letters, but had disclosed nothing personal, even about Yuuri’s potential pupil. He’d written in impeccable Alensian. Yuuri assumed that the man was either a high-ranking political official or merely a wealthy shut-in. Yuuri imagined him to be of his grandfather’s age, august and distinguished, if not a bit taller. Yuuri wished he knew more of the situation he was walking into. He didn’t even know the age of the child, or if there were, potentially, more than one that he would be teaching. 

Consequently, Yuuri had happened upon his most recent means of employment. Only a few weeks prior Yuuri had been enjoying a tea in his favorite  _ cafe _ and noticed a short advert in a Threnian newspaper looking for a long-term governor or governess. It wasn’t terribly strange to find a Threnian newspaper in Alensia, especially in its rather diverse capital, but it wasn’t something one saw every day. Yuuri had read and then reread the advert again before pocketing the paper.

Though he’d learned to fluently read and speak the language, like most of those foreign to the country, Yuuri knew little about Threnia and had never visited it. He knew that it mostly had a lower-class, fiercely traditional, rural population. It was a vast country that had nearly every geographic element: desolate, wide plains that stretched as far as the eye could see, steep grassy hills, sheer stone cliffs towering over churning seas, thick coniferous forests, and snowy, nearly impassable mountains. Unlike Alensia, which prided itself on its industrialization and modern ingenuity, only the aristocracy in the largest Threnian city, the capitol, had electricity and especially expensive things like motorcars. 

And even then, most of the aristocracy that had been in place only a mere generation ago was gone, fallen into poverty. As Threnia’s smaller and modern neighbors had industrialized, Threnia’s poor, rural infrastructure had suffered. Where its forestry and hand-crafted, sturdy wooden furniture had once been strong exports, modern buildings were being constructed of steel, brick, and concrete, and even wooden ships were all but a thing of the past. Factories were producing hundreds of pieces of furniture a day, at a fraction of the cost a traditional woodworker, or even his apprentice, could charge.

Yuuri knew that Threnia had once been a kingdom, but had fairly recently become an oligarchy. Oddly enough, it was still ruled by its once-royal family. Sighing, Yuuri mentally chided himself on his poor grasp of Threnian history and politics. If hired, he would need to study it well.

He worried at the cloth button of his coat sleeve. With the lamps of the town lost in the night, his window had once again gone completely dark. The ship crested another tall wave and Yuuri sighed, rubbing the center of his forehead, where a headache was brewing. The other passenger hissed a quiet expletive and stooped to pick his papers up off the floor. Silently, Yuuri agreed with his sentiment. He didn’t know how long his voyage would be, but he desperately hoped they’d reach the Threnian dock by dawn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter. As always, please excuse any errors. I am my own editor and am likely miss a word every now and again. It is likely that the next few chapters will take longer to write as they contain much of the foundation of this story. Any changes that are made to posted chapters will be noted.

They did not reach the dock by dawn. Yuuri drowsed uncomfortably on his bench. Upon waking he grimaced at the stiffness in his limbs and squinted at the only other passenger, the middle-aged man. He had decided to lay out upon his bench and his documents were stowed once again. He’d covered his face with his bowler and laced his fingers together atop his ample belly. His snores were nasally beneath the hat. With a deep sigh, Yuuri rubbed his gloved hand over his bleary eyes and looked out the window. 

He was greeted by nothing more than dim fog. It was thick enough he could barely see the water below. A glance at the clock by the cabin door informed him that it was half-seven, though the morning was certainly dim enough for it to have been earlier. Yuuri yawned widely and stretched arms above his head. His back was stiff from leaning against the wood of the bench, and despite wearing wool socks inside the heavy leather of his traveling boots, his feet were cold. The cabin felt decidedly stuffy.

When Yuuri let himself out and into the corridor the brisk fresh sea air whistled up the stair that led to the outer deck below. He shivered as he hastened to the toilet, but a small niche in the wall caught his eye. It had been curtained the previous evening, but now the niche sported a heavy-looking metal coffee set and some porcelain cups. Beside it was a basket. All were fastened to indentations in their serving tray.

Once he’d relieved himself and had settled back into his seat, Yuuri huddled gratefully around the warm porcelain in his hands. He nibbled on the nutty scone that he’d pulled from the basket and looked out the window. The small meal revived him and, as the waves seemed to have calmed with the night, he did some light reading.

That was how he spent much of his day. An attendant in a navy-colored uniform changed the hour on the cabin clock twice. From the little niche in the hall Yuuri chose a corned beef and cheese sandwich for lunch and a cold pork pie for supper. The coffee made his hands tremble, but he was appreciative for its warmth and drank several cups. The hours went slowly, and his back continued to ache from the hard bench, but Yuuri was grateful both that the foggy weather seemed to have calmed the seas, and that he had a long novel to pass the time. 

They finally docked in Threnia at half-two the next morning. It was the final port before the ship would head back toward Cafon. The toll of the bell roused Yuuri from his light doze. The middle-aged man was already making his way out of the cabin when Yuuri sat up enough to properly yawn and stretch his stiff neck. He quickly roused himself, straightened his collar, took up his briefcase, and hastened to the door. Trepidation roused him further and his heart began to beat as he stepped outside.

The night air was cold and bracing as Yuuri made his way down the stair from the cabin and onto the dimly-lit deck. It was blustery and dark, and there were few passengers exiting onto the modest dock. The crew had already unloaded large crates and parcels of goods at the end of it. With his free hand, Yuuri secured his hat atop his head. The night wind quickly stung at his ears and nose. 

The dock was dimly lit by lamps hung at intervals on a rope, strung between tall wooden posts. Past it, Yuuri could make out some small buildings with somewhat domed, thatched roofs. He wasn’t sure if it was an actual village or merely a small dock in the middle of nowhere. There were a few other boats about, but they were much smaller than the ship he’d been on, and as he walked closer he could see the thick nets that hung from their sides. The briny smell of fish was strong, especially near them. The night was too dark to see much else.

Where the wood of the dock met hard-packed dirt there was a tall street lamp. It was different in shape than those that lined the streets of Cafon, and it was alone, but it shone brighter than any of the other small lamps on the docks. There he met the carriage driver who had been sent to pick him up. Indeed, he was the only man not lugging crates and parcels from the ship’s hold.

The man seemed to be an older fellow, but most of his was head wrapped in a wool scarf and apart from the glow of his pipe, Yuuri could make out little of his face at all. His hat was a sort of floppy cap with a slight brim and it had a strap that fastened beneath his chin. He eagerly greeted Yuuri by name in a friendly stream of heavily-accented and broken Alensian. Weary and too surprised to pull any Threnian into his mind, Yuuri shook the hand offered to him and followed the man. 

His luggage had already been loaded onto the small coach when he approached it. The driver spared no time after he’d shut Yuuri in. He immediately hopped atop the seat at the front of the coach and with nothing more than a small click of his tongue the two horses pulled the small carriage forward. Inside, Yuuri clutched his briefcase and tried to not be jostled from his seat.

The coach was smaller than those in Alensia, but seemed to be fast and light. It bumped and juddered into the night. What little light the docks had afforded was soon lost, and despite the noise of the transport and the roughness of the unpaved roads, Yuuri curled in the corner of the cab and slept. 

In the morning he found that a basket, a woven wool blanket, and an unlit lantern had been hanging on hooks across from him in the carriage. They explained some of the rattle and noise that had woken him several times. 

The basket had some dried meats, hard cheeses, and little round wafers, as well as a bottle of ale and some matches for the lantern. There was a window in each of the two doors on the sides of the coach, but none in the front or back. The scuffed, tufted leather of the seat was less forgiving than the new padding that had been on the ship’s benches, but Yuuri wrapped himself gratefully in the bulk of the blanket.

Over the course of the next week Yuuri was shuttled along by several different teams of horses and drivers. By his reckoning, they stopped every six hours or so to change horses, sometimes to switch drivers, and to allow Yuuri to refresh himself, to get a new basket of supplies, and sometimes to get a hot meal at an inn. More than once Yuuri woke in the middle of the night when the carriage started forward once more. 

Yuuri did little but attempt to doze the first two days. The flat, grassy land had few landmarks and as a general rule, poor roads. He saw the pointed roofs of two villages in the distance and the smoke from the chimneys of a third, but never another carriage. He watched the scenery pass and often drowsed, wrapped in the blanket and tucked into the corner.

The third day he did much of the same. While the northern wilderness was beautiful, it was bleak and though the roads were bumpy, he sometimes attempted to read. The flat land became hilly, then ever more mountainous. 

Yuuri knew that even for most of the vast country, even at the height of summer the ground barely thawed. The days were dim and short, especially in the winter. Though it was still autumn, the already poor dirt roads had been continually criss-crossed with slushy wagon tracks. During the winter the entire country would surely become impossible for carriages. Bridges were usually built of stone and seemed to be very old indeed. Each one they encountered was narrow, just big enough for a single carriage, and was worn in the middle, where seemingly centuries of carriage wheels had worn them down.

By the fifth day the scenery seemed to consist of either a vast plain with tall, brown grass, or of thick, dark evergreen forest. There didn’t seem to be any kind of medium between the two. Beneath the tall trees was a cavernous space so dark that time seemed to hang in an everlasting twilight there, even at midday. Neither grass nor shrub grew beneath that canopy, so dense were the trees and dim was the light. 

Instead, the ground was littered with a thick layer of pine needles. It provided an odd quiet to their journey, as the noise of the narrow wheels of the carriage was muffled by them and they had to slow their pace. It was an odd place, but gave Yuuri some much needed respite from the unceasing clatter and clomp of the carriage and horses. Although he was inside the cab, Yuuri could sometimes catch a whiff of the fragrance of pine and fir.

The driver seemed to judge the road not by following a well-worn path, but instead by going between the only carriage-sized space between the trees. Like the rest of their journey, there never seemed to be any landmarks or signs of human life past the odd signpost. The windows often liked to fog on the inside and Yuuri had to choose whether he’d like a few minutes’ view or a dry blanket.

As they continued the trees around the carriage seemed to thin a bit and more daylight filtered to the ground. Shorter pines and firs began to grow between them. Then the coach began to climb. It thumped and creaked along the rutted dirt road. The mud quickly turned into icy sludge as they rose in elevation. 

On the seventh day Yuuri watched as three crows shot into the frozen air above the rolling, dense forest, startled from their hidden roosts. The pines that rose around the carriage were still straight and tall and terribly imposing. The arms of their branches began to be flecked with the white that had begun to fall from the clouded skies a few hours prior. It wasn’t snow, not quite. Just tiny, hard pebbles of ice. 

By that afternoon, the forest’s evergreen branches lined the road tightly, often scratching along the carriage’s sides and Yuuri couldn’t see a thing past them. For the second day in a row Yuuri was given a basket of cold ham sandwiches, some pickles, and a few pieces of celery. 

On the eighth day the aches that had slowly been manifesting seemed to trouble Yuuri acutely. Both the gnawing chill and heavy exhaustion weighed on him, and Yuuri yawned freely in the empty confines of the carriage, rubbing his gloved hands together and wishing he had another hot meal like stew of roast chicken and potatoes he’d had at an inn several days prior. He hadn’t seen any signs of another inn or even a village in days. He had many irritable thoughts, but was too tired to dwell on any of them. He rather desperately longed for some tea. 

When he woke the trees had become few again, and Yuuri assumed they were atop some rocky highlands, but he couldn’t see through the fog that blanketed everything around them. The wind picked up, nudging the carriage this way and that and whined through the cracks around the coach’s glass windows. The ever-present rattle of the wood of the carriage, non-stop clink of the harness chain, and high-pitched creak from somewhere to his left wore on him. Yuuri pulled the blanket tighter around himself and pressed his face into its bulk. The sound of the wind made the chill feel ever greater.

They had to slow their pace as they climbed deeper into the mountains. There Yuuri was treated to views of both the snow caps of the tallest mountains, looming ever closer, and the densely wooded valleys far below their narrow road. He thought the former beautiful and wondered if anyone had ever climbed their heights and set foot at the summit. It was a strange thought, that even in the modern century, there was a place that had never been marred by a boot print. The latter had made his heart beat and he’d quickly busied himself with a book on the other side of the carriage seat. 

A few hours later Yuuri woke from his drowse as the carriage jostled again and one of the horses snorted above the clatter of the vehicle. The pine boughs scratched against one side of the carriage and the ice pebbles clinked against the windows of the other. Yuuri rubbed his forehead and resettled his briefcase on the seat next to him. He fiercely hoped he would be hired. He wasn’t sure he would manage a trip back to Alensia.

Dusk was falling when the carriage jolted to a stop the next evening. Despite lighting a stub of a candle in addition to the lantern and attempting to read his book, Yuuri had been nodding off again. He pulled off his glasses and peered out the windows. They were still slightly fogged on the inside, but in the gloom he could make out a tall, stately stone fence and a curving, black wrought iron gate. 

Unbidden, his stomach fluttered a bit. He was finally at his destination. Yuuri was sure of it. He mopped the moisture from the window and peered out. 

Then the carriage lurched forward. Yuuri fumbled to snuff his candle and slip his things back into his briefcase. He glanced out and between the trees, the manor briefly came into view. Yuuri abruptly dropped the candle. 

It hit his boot and rolled somewhere on the floor of the carriage. Eyes wide, he took in the manor of the estate. It was painted in the dim, red-orange glow of the gloaming. Its pale facade rose above the height of the dark trees, climbing up the snowy mountain behind it. Its face was an imposing six stories of grey stone and stately, long windows. Its slate-covered roof rose into a sharply-pointed line, hemmed in by towers. It could have easily housed any royal family in the world. 

While Yuuri’s past employers had been quite wealthy and he supposed he should’ve expected something more than their tasteful townhomes, he couldn’t have dreamed of working anywhere quite so grand. Perhaps his employer was, somehow and rather impossibly, royal. Was that why they had given him so little information? The flutter in his stomach twisted into something a bit more uneasy. 

The coach’s wheels crunched on the white gravel of the circle drive before coming to a stop just at the foot of the wide stair that led to the columns that flanked the manor’s front entry. A mere moment later the driver swung the carriage door open. The cold wind stung Yuuri’s face as he carefully climbed out, focusing on not getting his somewhat-numb legs caught in his robes. Mercifully, the ice pellets that had been falling had turned into a light snow. It tickled his eyelashes and threatened to gather on his shoulders and atop his hat. He could hear the driver unloading his luggage as he slowly ascended the stair.

Feeling suddenly like the young pupil he’d been when he’d first seen the grand buildings in Cafon, Yuuri resisted the urge to fidget and chew on his lip as waited at the mouth of the mansion. If he’d had his senses, he would’ve marveled at the fine architecture and immaculately trimmed evergreen landscape of the estate. As it was, he nearly stumbled on the top step. 

The front entry’s double doors were as grand as a palace’s, Yuuri thought, his mind still in a haze. The doors were painted white and braidwork had been carved into their panels. The braids themselves were gilt. Yuuri hesitated and looked around. The doors were much too nice to rap one’s knuckles on, but nor was there any kind of knocker or bell-pull.

He was saved from indecision when the doors suddenly opened on their own. They revealed a thin, elderly man in a formal black jacket. His eyes were nearly hidden below bushy eyebrows and his mouth behind a thick mustache. He was otherwise all but bald. His cravat was perfectly starched and knotted and his entire outfit perfectly pressed.

The man bowed to Yuuri and with a quiet evening greeting in Threnian, escorted him in. They went through a small vestibule and past a second set of double doors, just as grand. His coat and luggage were taken, and for a moment Yuuri stared around him in awe. 

Whatever interior he had been expecting flew out of his mind. The foyer itself was truly massive. Twin grand staircases curved up from its center and disappeared into the wings of the manor. The pale wood of the floors were covered in thick white carpets that seemed to flow up the stairs. Centered above the second-story balcony was an enormous round window. It was flanked by other narrow windows, their curtains still open even in the darkness of the evening. The area beneath the balcony was curtained off and Yuuri wondered if it was another hallway. Two pillars stood beside each staircase and rose to the ceiling in what was Yuuri’s estimation, at height of three stories.

Tall windows looked into the grand foyer from other rooms on the second story. The walls and ceiling were richly embellished with white plaster ornaments and large, painted portraits and pastorals in gilt frames took up any available space. Even in the dim light the walls, ceiling, and floors seemed to glow in the light, as they were all either white or of a pale wood. 

Instead of being lit by gas lamps like most of the older buildings in Cafon were, this massive manor seemed to be lit entirely by candlelight. Long, tapered wax candles lined the staircases along the wall and high above him hung a single massive crystal chandelier, sparkling and glowing with warm light. Suddenly aware that he was standing in a stupor, staring up, and with his mouth open, Yuuri realized that the man had asked him something in Threnian. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri replied in the same language. He pulled his other glove off. “Would you mind repeating that?”

“Not at all.” The old man replied. “I asked if you would prefer to meet with Lord Nikiforov presently or if you would prefer to meet with him tomorrow morning.”

He had a thicker accent than Yuuri had heard from his professor at university, but Yuuri still understood his words.

“He is willing to meet with me now?” Yuuri asked, blinking. 

“He is.” The old man replied.

Yuuri thought for a moment. While his clothes weren’t travel-stained, they were quite rumpled. He was utterly exhausted. At the same time, he still felt that he should get the meeting over with, and that he would feel awkward to be a guest in someone’s house he had yet to meet. And, for whatever reason, cultural or otherwise, the lord had extended the courtesy of letting Yuuri make the choice.

“I would like to meet with him now, if possible.” Yuuri said. He tidily straightened his collar, tightened his cravat, and gave his hair a quick pat. He hoped that he had made the correct choice.

The old man’s mustache twitched at his answer and he bowed formally to him. Yuuri followed him up the left staircase.

To Yuuri’s surprise, he was led into a grand hallway and then into what seemed to be a personal sitting room. It was too small to be a formal receiving parlor. A fire crackled in its modest hearth. A single, tall wing-backed chair sat in front of the fire with a small table beside it. The chair was of a deep russet velvet. The table was polished to a near mirror finish. It was situated in the middle of the hearth and the chair to its side. Oddly enough, it seemed as if someone had removed its counterpart, as the other side of the table sat empty.

The elderly man bowed again and asked him to sit by the fire. Perplexed, Yuuri did as he was bid. As he stared at the flames his previous nervousness melted away. The chair was comfortably padded and its tufted back was comfortable. Behind thick curtains the wind whistled against a hidden window pane somewhere to his right. His weariness made itself known again. It felt like he had a ball of lead wrapped in cotton batting, sitting in the center of his forehead. Despite his best efforts, his eyes were just beginning to close when the click of a door behind him startled him back awake. 

“Please do not get up, Governor Katsuki,” a mild male voice said behind him. “And do not turn around.”

Yuuri froze, as he had been beginning to lean forward to do just that. 

“Please enjoy the fire.” The voice said. It was perfect Alensian, albeit with a slight Threnian accent. “I am sure your journey was long and not the most comfortable. It is not an easy distance from Cafon to this part of Threnia, especially at this time of the year. Was your travel without trouble?”

“Thank you, yes.” Yuuri replied, sitting stiffly in the chair. His mind was a whirl of confusion, but it quickly became focused solely on the voice. 

“Excellent.” The man said. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me before refreshing yourself. Please be at ease.”

There was an odd clicking noise behind him that stopped at the other side of the table. Yuuri couldn’t help that his eyes darted to the side, but the wings of the chair afforded no view of his host. 

“Thank you for indulging me,” the man said in a warm tone. “This is an odd way of greeting and performing an interview, but needs must. Tea?”

The elderly man reappeared at Yuuri’s other side so suddenly Yuuri nearly jumped. He held out a porcelain tea service. Yuuri gratefully accepted a gold-rimmed cup and saucer. It had a tiny cherub painted on the side of it. He could hear the clink of porcelain as the man beside him accepted one a moment later. Yuuri huddled a bit around the cup. He could tell that it was a fragrant and popular variety of black tea that was common in the more well-to-do _cafes_ in Cafon.

“As you have likely surmised, I am the Viscount of Runovia and lord of this manor,” the man said, startling Yuuri. Where he’d been expecting a grandfatherly duke, this lord sounded like a soft-spoken young man. 

“This interview will be brief, as I am sure you are beyond tired from your journey. I greatly commend you for asking to meet with me immediately after arriving. It does great credit to your character.” 

The lord launched into a fairly standard series of questions about Yuuri’s background, his schooling, and his professional experience. If he’d ever been asked to leave a job, what the ages of his past pupils had been, and if he’d visited Threnia before. The lord’s voice was steady and quiet. He produced the questions themselves as readily as someone with a written list could. The interview seemed to be going well, but the final question was one that Yuuri had never been asked before:

“How would you treat an obstinately rude child?” the lord asked, and then was silent. Yuuri waited a moment for the lord to elaborate, as he had with every other question, but it seemed that he was waiting for his answer. 

“I have taught strong-willed children,” Yuuri began, unsure if he had a competent answer. “They are usually very intelligent and have formed their own opinions through meticulously studying that which surrounds them. They must be allowed to learn at their own pace, and they must be praised often to curb obstinance and turn it into thoughtful reflection.”

Yuuri paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He suddenly wasn’t sure his ramblings would afford him this seemingly prestigious position after all.

“Direct rudeness, however, is somewhat more difficult. I have studied little of modern human psychology, but in my experience rudeness in a previously well-mannered child comes often from a root problem. I would need to get to know a child to understand the cause of their rudeness.”

“And what would you do then?” The lord asked. 

Yuuri hesitated, and the thought that the travel back to Alensia would seem twice as long if he weren’t hired popped into his head. He shook it away and sipped his tea. It was bracingly strong and black and helped him gather his wits.

“I would address that root problem, to the best of my ability.” Yuuri answered at length. “In my experience, it has little to do with the child.”

There was a moment of silence that stretched long enough for Yuuri to begin to second guess himself. He lowered the teacup and saucer, his stomach beginning to twist itself into a knot once again.

“Thank you for your honesty,” the lord said, and then: “You may consider yourself under my employ.”

Yuuri paused and fixed his half-empty teacup with a surprised look.

“I--I thank you.” He managed to stammer. 

Then Yuuri heard the clink of the lord’s saucer on the marble of the table between them and then startled as the man suddenly seemed to float into his view. No, that wasn’t quite right, Yuuri thought, blinking against the bright light of the fire and trying to focus on the dark figure in front of it. The man was sitting in a wooden wheeled chair that clicked quietly when it moved.

“It is nice to properly meet you,” the lord said with a hint of mirth. “Please pardon my odd manner of greeting you earlier.”

“Of course,” Yuuri floundered a bit as he quickly stood, not entirely sure what odd manner of greeting he was referring to. _When greeting an infirm superior, one must still stand and bow,_ his mind supplied rather unhelpfully, and in the dry voice of his manners professor. The remainder of his luke-warm tea sloshed over his fingers at his sudden movement. But half way into an awkward bow ( _he really should have put down his teacup first)_ the firelight caught on the platinum blond hair of the man in front of him. 

Yuuri froze as he was immediately struck by its familiarity, but altogether his brain couldn’t produce where he might have met the man. His fair hair was cropped to fall half over his startlingly handsome face. His one visible eye was a light color and had a dark smudge beneath it that spoke of weariness. He was dressed in an impeccable and dark velvet jacket, pressed cravat, black gloves, and had his legs wrapped in a knitted blanket. The color of his hair was so familiar to Yuuri, but the man was an utter stranger. He was sure that he personally knew no one from Threnia.

So caught in the sudden oncoming of his musings, the teacup slipped from Yuuri’s nerveless fingers and immediately shattered on the floor.

Yuuri’s heart beat loudly in the blanket of silence that fell over the room. His face began to heat as the moment stretched.

“Well, that was unexpected.” The Lord of Runovia said in an offhand manner, glancing down without surprise.

“Oh, I’m so sorr--” Yuuri blurted out tardily, then jolted as the toe of his boot clinked against the shattered teacup. 

“It is quite alright,” the lord readily interrupted, seemingly unbothered by the broken cup or the tea currently staining through what looked to be his early second era carpet. “You must be exhausted from your journey.”

“I,” Yuuri stammered, unintelligently. “I apologise for,” He meant to look down at the teacup but his eyes unconsciously drifted to the lord’s blanket covered legs, folded neatly into the foot of the wooden chair. Realizing how extremely rude he was being, he violently flushed and jerked his head to the side to avert his gaze. 

“There is no need,” the man said with a polite, mild smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That set has never been a favorite anyway. And it is my pleasure to meet you, Governor Katsuki. My name is Viktor Nikiforov.” 

Mortification at his own clumsiness still warmed his face, but Yuuri managed to make his way through the introduction with minimal additional embarrassment. The butler swept up the mess at his feet a moment later.

“Yes, well.” the lord said. “If you are ready to retire for the evening, my butler, Orlov, will show you to your chambers.”

“You’re still going to hire me?” Yuuri asked, feeling entirely awkward and struck dumb.

“Why would I not?” He asked, patiently amused and seemingly, also a bit tired.

“Because I,” Yuuri stammered, then floundered, decidedly didn’t look at the lord, and then wordlessly gestured at the broken teacup. 

Lord Nikiforov huffed a breath of mirth and his demeanor turned a bit warmer.

“Unlike his last three governesses, I believe you will be an excellent fit for my cousin. I didn’t bring you all the way from Alensia to send you back over a broken cup of tea.” The lord said dryly. 

His gaze twinkled with a touch of mirth in the firelight. Yuuri’s mind, or what little he had at his disposal, was suddenly fixed solely on the man’s face, his hands, his voice. He was absolutely sure he’d never met anyone as handsome in his life. The moment stretched long and when Yuuri noticed he had drifted into a dazed reverie he pulled his eyes away from the man. He then belatedly realized that he was likely meant to have responded. Instead, he’d just stared. Yuuri cleared his throat, his face heating further.

“Now then,” the lord clapped his hands once, startling Yuuri. “Orlov will take you to your rooms and will bring you some supper. In the morning I will give you all of the details of your position and you can meet my charming cousin.”

Yuuri managed to bow, stammer through a couple of “thank-you”’s, and threw in a “good evening” for good measure before he was led away by the elderly man. He followed the butler through the grandeur of the dim corridors and stairways in a daze and barely managed to make it to his bedside before his knees gave out. He buried his hot face in his cold hands.

He’d never been so embarrassed in his life, and it had been in front of his most prestigious employer to date, Lord Viktor Nikiforov, the viscount of the palatial estate of Runovia.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter. We're finally seeing more of our familiar cast of characters.  
> As always, please excuse any errors. I also want to say a big thank you to all who have left kudos and comments! If not for your interest and support, I'd likely never get this massive story pulled out of my head and into a document.
> 
> 2/16 Edit: If you're a fan of this story and would like to see some behind-the-scenes inspiration, check out its brand new blog: [thebreadthofwinter.tumblr.com](https://thebreadthofwinter.tumblr.com/). The password is my username, lampshaded.  
> It is mostly photos, but scroll to the bottom to check out some of the music that would be on this story's soundtrack.

The bedroom door clicked closed behind Orlov and his light footsteps faded down the corridor. The fire popped once. Then it popped again. At length, Yuuri let out a long exhale and pulled his hands from his face. He stared at his scuffed traveling boots for a long moment and then looked around.

His chambers were seemingly as richly furnished in antique finery as the rest of the manor. His bedchamber was long, with two sets of fine curtains and what looked to be a century-old roll-top desk between them. The double bed was opposite the fireplace. Its curtains matched those on the windows and it was covered with a thick down comforter. The curtains were all of a sage green brocade and the comforter was embroidered with slender leaves and golden trumpet-like flowers. The walls were decorated with a couple of paintings of mountain landscapes in gilt frames. A dark velvet chair and ottoman sat by the hearth, along with a silver covered platter with a matching service. Opposite the desk, a tall armoire and a standing mirror were flanked by two doors. The door closer to the hearth led into the hall. The other led into a bathing chamber. 

The bath tub in the adjoining room had been filled with steaming water. A closet near it housed a toilet. Cinders glowed in a small hearth in the corner of the bathroom. Beside it was a large cast-iron kettle, likely to heat the bathwater. Thin, tapered candles glowed in gilt sconces on the walls. Yuuri looked between the platter and the bath. He was famished, but the heat of the bath was too great a temptation. 

Weariness won over impropriety and Yuuri carried his supper tray into the bathroom and placed it on a low dressing table, next to the bathtub. His rumpled clothes he folded half-heartedly and hastily set aside. 

He’d missed his family’s _onsen_ after he’d moved to Alensia, but he never knew how much until that moment, just as he sank into the steaming water. He shivered, and gooseflesh ran up his spine as he was surrounded by heat. The flats in Cafon had been small, and as a rule, Alensians rarely favored baths over the efficiency of a wash station. Indeed, the flat he’d shared with Pitchit had been one of the older ones, and had nothing more than a deep sink in the kitchen. Yuuri keenly felt how long it had been since he’d had a proper soak.

The heat of the water was divine and it eased the ever-present ache in his bones the length of the journey had worried into him. Lounging back, Yuuri exhaled a long breath toward the ceiling. The bathtub was filled almost to the brim. Nearly imperceptible steam rose off of the water. The shining brass of the tub glowed in the candlelight. Yuuri sighed again and closed his eyes, sinking a bit further into the warmth of the water. He had done it, he thought to himself. He’d finally gotten to his destination and had secured his employment.

Over the edge of the bath Yuuri enjoyed a meal of roasted chicken and some sort of root vegetable while lounging half-submerged in the hot water. It felt decadent and utterly improper. His manners professor would’ve had a fit. Though he’d not seen the man in years, his displeased face readily came to the forefront of Yuuri’s mind and he breathed a laugh at the image’s expense. He ran his wet fingers through his hair, smiling at the thought.

The bath tub was large enough he could completely submerse himself. The provided bar of soap was smooth and smelled of citrus. It lathered nicely in his hair. He finished his cup of wine as the water slowly cooled.

Lord Nikiforov was the most handsome person he’d ever had the fortune to meet, Yuuri thought as he let his mind drift. It was odd that he had withheld details of the employment until Yuuri had been hired, but, Yuuri reasoned, perhaps it was due to his status. Or his physical impairment. Or perhaps it was just a long-honored custom in Threnia. He knew too little of the situation to judge it adequately. 

The lord had met Yuuri’s rudeness with the highest decorum and grace. But he absolutely had to think Yuuri an utter imbecile. 

Yuuri groaned and slid under the water. He felt all of seventeen again, shy and awkward in a new country. Hiding in the bathroom and blowing bubbles from one’s nose was the only remedy for this sort of embarrassment. And that he did for a while.

Though the clock on the mantle said that it was only half-eight in the evening, Yuuri dawned his nightshirt and pulled his bed curtains closed. He immediately fell asleep under its thick blankets and slept so deeply he didn’t dream.

In the morning Yuuri woke slowly. The bedsheets were warm and smooth against his feet as he stretched. A bird twittered somewhere outside the sleepy darkness of his closed bed. Yuuri blinked muzzily and slowly slid one curtain open. Light filtered in from behind a window curtain. Yuuri slipped out of the bed and padded to the window. He pulled the curtain aside.

“Goodness.” Yuuri whispered to himself, shielding his eyes from the bright glare.

A thick snow had fallen overnight and it had blanketed the world in a dazzling white. Yuuri’s window overlooked the front of the estate. From it he could see the massive wrought iron front gate and the tall stone fence that surrounded the yard. A statue of a winged figure stood in the middle of the circle drive. Evergreen bushes in perfect cone shapes lined the inside of the stone fence and encircled the statue. 

Beyond the fence Yuuri was afforded the vast view of the valley, completely covered in pines, as far as Yuuri could see. And upon it all rested a thick blanket of pristine snow. Across the valley rose more snowy mountains, as far as the eye could see. A reluctant ray of sun shone through the thin clouds across the view. It was nearly blinding for a moment. 

Yuuri opened both of the window curtains and gazed out long enough for his bare feet to go cold on the wooden floor. A glance at the clock on the mantle spurred him into action.

He dressed quickly. He tucked his plain white shirt into his trousers and buttoned his bracers. His fine wool waistcoat, and nicely starched cuffs and collar were next. Lastly, he pulled on his educator’s robe. More specifically, it was a governor’s coat. Where the professors in universities had long robes that were at least knee-length, Yuuri’s governor’s coat was similar to a frock coat, but its buttons fastened higher and thus, had hardly any lapel.

The entire ensemble he’d had tailored a few months prior and fit his slim form well. He tied his simple white cravat and double-checked that his button-up boots were buffed and were free of scuffs. All but his shirt, cuffs, collar, and cravat were black. 

Yuuri gave himself a stern look in the gold-gilt mirror by his armoire. He’d embarrassed himself silly the night previous and it wouldn’t do if he looked anything but like the professional he was. 

His hair was shorter than usual; he’d just had it cut before he’d left Cafon. Though his face had changed little since he’d become an adult some ten-odd years previous, the small round spectacles he wore for reading made him look slightly older than he was. He felt lucky that he didn’t have to shave his face, like most men in Alensia did. Yuuri gave his reflection another look over and smoothed his hair before going in search of the butler. 

Yuuri didn’t have to look very long. Orlov was in the hall, only a few doors away, opening the curtains of the tall windows. Though he was a slight fellow he seemed to have no trouble pulling the draperies open, despite the tall windows extending well above his reach. He was dressed formally again, in a black coat and a perfectly starched cravat. 

“Good morning, Master Katsuki,” Orlov greeted him with a bow. “Lord Nikiforov will see you in the dining hall. This way, if you please.”

Yuuri followed him down the hall and they descended one of the staircases in the foyer. In the daylight the foyer looked even larger and more grand. Its many windows were bright with the sunlight and snow. Yuuri could see a perfect view of the mountaintop when he looked up through the large round window. Through the other windows that faced the back of the house, Yuuri could see more of the lush evergreen forest. Orlov waited patiently as he looked his fill.

“Do you entertain many guests?” Yuuri asked in Threnian when the silence had stretched. It was rather exciting to use the language with a native speaker. 

“Guests?” Orlov paused for a moment. Yuuri nodded, sure he’d gotten his pronunciation of the word correct. 

“No,” Orlov replied. “We don’t often receive visitors of any kind.”

“Oh, I see.” Yuuri said. But he didn’t really. He’d assumed the lord would have a large social circle of the wealthy, famous, and royal. Perhaps, he reasoned, that the snowy and inhospitable weather of the region didn’t afford many travelers. 

Yuuri was led to a large dining room with a single, long table at its center. The length of it was great enough that far above hung three large and unlit chandeliers. Tall windows adorned one side of the room, bathing it in the white light of the cloudless day. A massive fireplace stood at one end of the room. Though it was nearly Yuuri’s height it held a small fire. And despite being long enough to seat four dozen, the table only had two chairs. They sat across from each other at the end closest to the fireplace. Between them and at the end of the table a third place was set, but without a chair.

“Lord Nikiforov will be with you shortly,” Orlov said, pouring what looked like a hot, cloudy ale into a teacup for Yuuri. It was a slightly yellowish, rusty color and didn’t seem to have any bubbles.

Yuuri sniffed the cup after Orlov left. It smelled spicy and fruity and Yuuri wanted to try it before he had an audience, but it steamed like something freshly-boiled. The cup warmed his fingers in the slight draft of the large room. Yuuri could hear the wind whistling against the large windows. He suppressed a shiver. The sound alone was enough to make him feel its chill. 

A voice caught his ear. It wasn’t that of a man, it was too high-pitched. It paused and then he could hear it again, growing in volume as it neared.

“-for it because I am not!” A child huffed in Threnian, striding into the hall with heavy clomps of his heeled feet. Upon seeing Yuuri he stopped short. 

The child was slight, but seemed to be half-grown, and was dressed in finely embroidered clothing. He wore gray satin breeches and a white, well-fitted frock coat. At his neck his lace cravat was knotted perfectly. His light blond hair was straight and fell in one length, just above his shoulders. He was pale and his wide eyes were blue. 

“And this is what you bring me?” The boy asked, incredulous. He flung a hand in Yuuri’s direction. “This?”

Yuuri was about to ask what he was speaking of when Lord Nikiforov came into the room. In the daylight he looked even more handsome than he had the previous evening. He was dressed in a dark navy morning coat and had a matching blanket across his legs. His hair was such a light blond that it was nearly white. They neared the table. The boy seemingly struck dumb in astonishment as he stared openly at Yuuri, and the lord with an air of resignment.

In the light of day Yuuri could see the flat crescent of a white scar that marred the skin below his visible eye, and another on that trailed from his lower lip to his jaw. Though noticeable, Yuuri thought they did nothing to mar his looks. He looked to be of Yuuri’s age, or perhaps a few years older. They stopped when they reached the dining table. Yuuri stood.

“Yes Yura,” Lord Nikiforov responded with a sigh. 

“Yuri.” The boy retorted, seeming to snap out of his stupor. “My name is Yuri. Only my friends can call me Yura.”

“This is Governor Katsuki.” The lord continued as if he’d not been loudly interrupted, gesturing at Yuuri. “He will oversee your studies.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Yuuri said in Threnian, and bowed formally.

“What a joke,” the boy said, still incredulous. He whirled to face the lord. “You’ve gone senile in your old age. You didn’t get me a governor, you got me a-,” he turned to send a scathing glare to Yuuri, but was seemingly at a frustrated loss. “This is a black-haired pig!”

“Yura--” Lord Nikiforov began.

“You can forget whatever plans you had,” the boy yelled. “I won’t study under some idiotic black-haried foreigner! I won’t!”

And with that, the child stomped back out of the room. With a loud crack the dining room doors slammed behind him. 

Yuuri blinked in the sudden silence. His heart was beating loudly enough he was sure that it could be heard. He kept his composure, but he was sure his cheeks flared brightly at the insult.

“I’m--,” he began.

“I must apologize.” Lord Nikiforov said with a sigh, coming up to the head of the table. He looked as weary as he had the previous evening. “I am truly sorry.”

“It’s--Is he always like that?” Yuuri asked in Alensian, still a bit shocked.

“Unfortunately,” Lord Nikiforov replied in the same language, settling into the place setting without a chair. “You can now see why your interview contained such questions.”

Yuuri followed suit and sat as well. 

They sat in silence for a moment.

“I believe he will warm up to you eventually,” Lord Nikiforov said as Orlov began to serve them ham, some steamed cabbage, and eggs. “He isn’t a bad child. He wasn’t always like this.”

“Do you know what changed?” Yuuri asked, buttering a bread roll. He was pleasantly surprised to find it filled with raisins. 

“His grandfather, Nikolai, is my grandfather’s brother, and is Yuri’s guardian.” Lord Nikiforov explained, cutting into his egg. “He has a slow ailment of the lungs and hasn’t been well for the past year. Nine months ago he moved into a hospice outside of the capital, sold his home, and sent Yuri to live with me.”

“They must be close then,” Yuuri said after a bite of ham. “For him to take the change this badly.”

“You’re correct.” Lord Nikiforov nodded, his already pale face looking wan and his undereye smudged. He nudged his roll to the side. Yuuri covertly watched as he cut, but didn’t eat his ham. A spark of worry made him pause his own meal.

“His grandfather brought him up from a young age. Both his parents and mine succumbed to an illness that swept through Threnia almost ten years ago. We are all that is left of the family.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Yuuri said, somewhat startled. 

But Lord Nikiforov only gave him a slight, tired smile. He smiled, yet he couldn’t have been pleased. Yuuri studied him and picked up his still slightly steaming teacup.

“I was never close to my parents,” the lord said. “I hardly knew them. After they passed, it was only natural that I take up my father’s position as viscount and lord of this manor.”

Yuuri nodded and they fell into an easy silence as they ate a leisurely breakfast. The food was excellent, and Yuuri found himself wishing he could hear the lord speak some more. He found his formal and lightly accented Alensian charming.

Yuuri made a startled sound after his first sip of the warm drink.

“Oh, it’s sweet. Sorry,” he apologised. He could feel his face heat. “I was expecting a bitter fruit tea.”

“It is made from stewed apples and apricots,” Lord Nikiforov said, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Our cook makes it daily for us. We call it  _ Kompot _ .”

“It is excellent.” Yuuri said, taking a longer sip and savoring the hints of cinnamon. It was slightly sweet, and nothing like tea made from dried apples. He didn’t often care for sweet drinks but the  _ kompot  _ seemed to be an exception.

“Yura likes it too,” Lord Nikiforov said, glancing at the empty seat across from Yuuri. “He will likely come around in a couple of days. I really do apologise for his behavior.”

“I will see him after an hour or so,” Yuuri said, hoping to soothe the wrinkle of distress that still lingered between the lord’s brows. “When the shock of our meeting lessens and he becomes hungry and bored.”

Lord Nikiforov blinked at him once, then his face lit up as he suddenly laughed, his mouth pulled into a genuine smile. Yuuri’s heart gave an odd little skip. 

“You are better at this than I have given you credit for,” the lord said, his blue gaze bright. “I would have never thought of that.”

“It comes with the business,” Yuuri said with a small smile of his own. 

Lord Nikiforov smiled at his reply as well.

Yuuri wished he had something more intelligent to say. Despite feeling like he was always wrong-footed in front of the man, he rather desperately wished to hear him laugh some more.

“Surely you’re too modest,” the lord said, still slightly smiling. “But you haven’t taught in Threnia before? Are you familiar with the  _ Kathik _ ?”

“ _ Kathik _ ? I’m afraid that I am not,” Yuuri said, unfamiliar with the Threnian word. He sipped his drink. 

“It is the traditional coming of age examination all of those in Threnia’s landed aristocracy must pass on their fifteenth birthday,” the lord explained. “It covers the basics of arithmetic to history and everything from grammar to manners. After his grandfather passes, Yura and I will be the last in our family line. If Yura passes the  _ Kathik  _ he will inherit my titles and this manor.”

Yuuri nodded. Such tests weren’t unheard of, especially where the culture was conservative. They were comprehensive and were often written into a country’s laws.

“If he should not pass,” Lord Nikiforov paused, swirling the drink in his own teacup. “He will not be allowed access to our family’s wealth and will be cast from the aristocracy. As I am sure you have read, Threnia does not have a middle class.” Lord Nikiforov pursed his lips, pausing and looking troubled. 

His eyes drifted to the window for a moment before returning to Yuuri. 

“If he does not pass the Kathik he will have to earn a wage to survive. Once I am gone, our family line will fall and this manor will belong to the Threnian government. It is certainly old enough that they may make it into a museum.”

“That is--,” Yuuri found himself at a loss.

“Harsh, yes.” The lord said, looking down at his teacup. He stirred it slowly. “But Threnia is nothing if not traditional. And the  _ Kathik  _ has been around for the past thousand years. You will have access to a book of material Yura must know to pass it.”

“How old is he?” Yuuri asked.

“He does not look it, but he is twelve, nearly thirteen.” Lord Nikiforov said, still looking troubled. “Our family line is known for growing slowly through childhood and earning height in the latter teen years. If that makes sense in Alensian?”

“I understand.” Yuuri said. “And he’s aware of the consequences if he does not pass?”

“He is,” Lord Nikiforov nodded. “I believe the grief his grandfather’s situation has caused is clouding his judgement. You can understand my worry.” He fixed Yuuri with a long and open look.

“Yes.” Yuuri said, feeling at a loss. He could certainly see why the lord would be desperate for a governor who could change the boy’s habits.

“Might I ask--,” Yuuri put down his empty cup and hesitated.

“About his choice of insults?” Lord Nikiforv said. Without mirth, one corner of his mouth curled until a dimple appeared. “You haven’t been in Threnia long enough to know that few here have ever seen anyone with brown hair, let alone black.”

“Is it really that uncommon?” Yuuri asked, raising a hand to his crown. Almost everyone in the Korokine Provinces had dark hair.

“It is, though red hair is known on the western coast.” The lord said. “Most have very light hair in this country. Threnia is not hospitable to travelers, aside from the odd merchant. People do not come and go, they are buried where they were born. Dark hair is the mark of a foreigner.”

“I see.” Yuuri said, idly wondering if Threnia and Alensia shared similar popular hair styles. “Is long hair uncommon here?”

“It is common in some circles,” the lord said with a light shrug. Though cropped short at his nape, he didn’t seem to mind that his hair lay across half of his face, hanging nearly to his mouth. 

Yuuri thought it a handsome look but wondered if it obscured his vision. 

“I wore mine longer once,” the lord said blandly. “It’s much easier to brush now.”

Yuuri’s eyes drifted to the lord’s gloved hands as he idly gestured with them. It made sense that he would keep them covered with warm gloves if they pained him. And that he would make his daily habits, like brushing his own hair, as simple as possible if he had limited use of his hands. Yuuri bit his tongue when several of his mother’s remedies came to the forefront of his mind.

“I’m sure,” he murmured instead, then slightly shook his head. “Is ah, Yura a Nikiforov too?”

“His name is Yuri Plisetsky,” the lord said, relaxing back into his chair and pushing his mostly-full breakfast plate away. “His grandfather has always called him Yurochka. He didn’t used to mind when I called him Yura.”

“Thats--,” Yuuri hesitated. “It seems that he has a lot of names.”

“It is part of our language,” Lord Nikiforov said with a slight smile. “We use many ‘nick-names.”

Yuuri blinked at the odd pronunciation of the word.

“That is what they are called in Alensian?” Lord Nikiforov looked less sure, but Yuuri nodded. 

“I always thought the word ‘nick-name’ was strange,” the lord continued. “Nicholases are called Nicks as nick-names, but one’s nick-name doesn’t have to be ‘Nick’.”

Despite himself, Yuuri huffed a laugh.

“I suppose it does sound odd,” Yuuri said. “I’ve never thought about it before. I’ve been in Alensia for a long time.”

“Oh?” Lord Nikiforov sat up a bit, looking politely interested. He rested his elbows on the table and set his chin on his folded hands. “You’re not from Cafon?”

“No, goodness.” Yuuri laughed. Cafon was a mixing-bowl of cultures from across the globe, but he’d never thought of himself as looking like a native of the city. “I grew up in the Korokine Province. My family owns an  _ onsen  _ there.”

“What is that?” Lord Nikiforov asked. His gaze was intense and of a vivid color. Yuuri schooled himself to not lose his train of thought.

“It’s an inn, sort of.” He said, allowing himself to lean forward to mimic the lord’s pose. “Built around a natural hot spring the size of a pond. Guests travel long distances to bathe in it.”

“And the water is hot? Amazing.” Lord Nikiforov exclaimed reverently, his demeanor looking as animated as Yuuri had seen. He fixed Yuuri with the most keen of gazes. “Please, tell me more. I have never heard of such a thing.”

“Well,” Yuuri thought for a moment, pressing his chin into his interlaced fingers. He didn’t often speak about his home. “My mother inherited the inn from her mother, and father manages it. Guests come long distances for the healing properties of the water.”

“It has healing water?” Lord Nikiforov asked. “I had heard that the Korokine Provinces were full of ancient magic, but--,”

“No, no,” Yuuri laughed, waving a hand. “It’s not quite  _ healing _ water. It certainly isn’t magical. The water is very hot and full of minerals. It is very relaxing and can ease some aches and pains.”

Yuuri didn’t know the chemical science behind the  _ onsen _ ’s water, but he hoped that the lord didn’t think it was somehow enchanted.

“Oh.” Lord Nikiforov didn’t look like he understood.

“But my mother, she is knowledgeable with healing remedies.” Yuuri said. “Some can be made into tea. Others steeped in a bath. Her remedies were as popular as the _onsen_ ’s waters.”

“Incredible,” the lord said, looking quite curious. “And she was never trained as a doctor?”

“Not as such, no.” Yuuri said. “She learned it from her mother, who learned it from her grandmother. And so on.”

Yuuri startled when a door closed behind him. He cleared his throat and sat back into his chair. A moment later Orlov began clearing their dishes. Yuuri picked up one of the raisin rolls, folded it in the unused napkin from the place setting in front of him, and put it into his pocket.

“I can show you to Yura’s room if you’d like,” the lord said, looking more relaxed than he had before their meal. “I am sure that’s where he went.”

“Please.” Yuuri nodded. “Though it may still be too early for me to try to speak with him.”

“Yes, you are probably right.” Viktor agreed, then caught Orlov’s eye. “A tour then, and after, I will introduce you to the staff.”

Yuuri agreed and they left the dining room in an agreeable silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a bit creative with the use of non-electrical technology in this chapter, so please bear with me if the construction defies the laws of physics. Also, we meet a disabled original character in this chapter. Please note that the manner of his communication is fictional and that I have very little knowledge on its real-life equivalents. 
> 
> If you're a fan of this story and would like to see some behind-the-scenes inspiration, check out its brand new blog: [thebreadthofwinter.tumblr.com](https://thebreadthofwinter.tumblr.com/). The password is my username, lampshaded.  
> It is mostly photos, but scroll to the bottom to check out some of the music that would be on this story's soundtrack.
> 
> As always, thank you for your support!

The lord seemed to move around easily enough. His wheeled chair rolled across wood and rug with relative ease. It was similar to a wooden dining chair, though its back, armrests, and foot rests were all tufted with a deep green velvet. Its wheels and spokes were wooden as well, though the wheels looked to be padded with rubber. It had a large set of wheels the lord used to propel himself, as well as a smaller set beneath the seat that seemed to help stabilize the entire contraption.

It was a marvelous thing, Yuuri thought as he followed him. He’d seen a few wheeled chairs in Cafon, but they had all been bulky, much more basket-like, and had always required a second person to push them. 

“Okay,” the lord stopped in front of the entry and turned to face him. “This is a fairly large house, but I shall endeavor to be brief.” 

Yuuri’s nod was a determined one. He dearly hoped that he would remember it all and would not get lost.

The entry from the front doors led directly into the foyer, located on the first floor. That much he already knew. There was a left wing and a right wing. The lord said Yuuri only needed to concern himself with the south wing. The north was empty and unused.

It was obvious to Yuuri that though Lord Nikiforov had learned Threnian first and that he was the most comfortable with it, he chose to use Alensian when speaking to him. It was a considerate gesture that Yuuri was grateful for. He knew Threnian fluently, but it didn’t come as easily as Alensian, which he had learned as a child. It also gave his mind a bit of a break and allowed him to freely converse. The lord led their tour with the affable ease of someone who had done it many times before.

Within the foyer, columns flanked twin grand staircases that curved as they rose up to a second-floor balcony. Above it was a large round window that looked directly up the side of the snowy mountain that the manor was situated on. From his vantage point Yuuri could see that the evergreen forest climbed halfway up it, and that its peak was bare and white with snow. The massive round window was flanked by other tall, mulled windows that were the same as those that lined the halls and were in Yuuri’s bedroom. 

Both sides of the first-floor of the foyer had hidden closets for storage. On the outside they looked exactly as the other walls did, as their doors were hidden behind paneling. Above them on the second floor were sitting areas with plush chairs.

“During the summer these doors lead into the gardens,” Lord Nikiforov said, pausing beneath the staircases and gesturing to the wall of curtains that hung from the bottom of the balcony. “But during the winter the snow piles up against them. I was always told it was some sort of, how is it said? A design flaw in the architecture of the house. These curtains help keep the cold from coming inside, but I’m afraid the entire manor can be quite drafty at times.”

The foyer itself was three stories tall, and though they were impossible to see in, even if one stood on the second floor balcony, massive windows with rounded tops looked into presumably large rooms on either side of it. Their ceilings seemed to rise just as high. 

They crossed the room and stood near the vestibule. The foyer was bright in the daylight and in Yuuri's opinion, looked fine enough to be a royal palace. The walls, ceiling, window trim, crown molding, and columns were all decorated with white plaster swirl-like designs that were reminiscent of a more lavish time in centuries past. Objectively, Yuuri knew that the manor was a simple, if large, brick-and-mortar building, and that it was not dissimilar to the historic ones at Cafon’s University. 

And yet, the ceilings seemed to rise all the higher, the paintings were more vivid, the carpets more plush, and the entire place seemed more grand. Possibly, it was because the place was immaculately clean, and that there were no signs of daily wear and tear. It was very much as if the entire manor hadn’t seen its past hundred years of age and that Yuuri had stepped back into an earlier time, one where lofty grandeur was favored over modern ingenuity.

Yuuri paused at one of the windows. While the day was still bright, the sun had been shrouded behind thin clouds and the snow had began to fall once again. It was just thick enough that he could just see down to the pine-filled valley, but not across to the other mountains. The small flakes slowly drifted to the ground. 

It held none the sooty air of the city. There was no muddy sludge, stomped and refrozen into rough cobblestone. The snow on the ground in front of the manor was pristine and didn’t have a single bootprint. And it was so very quiet. For the second time that day, the scenery in front of him gave him pause and it seemed that the longer he stared out in awe, the more it took his breath away. 

“I hope you are not adverse to this sort of weather,” Lord Nikiforov commented lightly when he noticed that Yuuri’s attention had strayed. He rolled up next to Yuuri and looked out as well. He was pale in the white morning light. “We will receive lots of it even before midwinter.”

Yuuri huffed the slightest exhale and smiled lightly.

“I think it is beautiful.” He said in a quiet tone, glancing at the lord before returning his gaze to the scene.

The lord looked up at his comment, then looked out the window once again.

They resumed their tour after a few minutes. On the first floor Yuuri was led through the dining hall and two large parlors. He was shown to the kitchen stair, located just off of the dining hall. The kitchen itself was in a separate building that also housed the bulk of the servants’ quarters. The dining room windows looked south, out to the side of the estate's yard and over the kitchen's short, snowy-shingled roof. 

As they walked Lord Nikiforov breezed past the fine plasterwork and gilt frames of portraits twice Yuuri’s height as if they were no more interesting than common pigeons on a public sidewalk. Almost every large window they passed had a pair of tufted velvet chairs in front of them, as if they were in a massive public building, like a library. Their upholstery matched that of the curtains. Pieces of antique finery lined the halls. 

Yuuri paused to study a gleaming crystal urn that sat beneath a massive, beautifully etched mirror. It sat on an intricately-carved granite-topped sideboard. What looked to be a piece of an ancient marble statue was mounted on a lacquered stand beside it. Lord Nikiforov didn’t even spare them a glance.

“I am sure you will find the second floor quite agreeable,” the lord said as he led them down a hall that seemingly ended with a tall window, a single chair, small table, and little else. “It houses our library.”

“That does sound agreeable,” Yuuri responded, looking around. They had already passed the door to the nearest parlor. They stood in a corridor that didn't seem to lead anywhere.

“You must wonder how a man in a chair travels around in this large place.” The lord said.

The thought had indeed crossed Yuuri's mind, but to have voiced his question would have been very poor manners indeed. 

He watched as the lord went up to the wall and pushed a piece of its paneling in. It clicked and like a cabinet door, swung out into the hall. It revealed a dark room. 

The lord abruptly turned in place and backed into the doorway. He was immediately obscured. Yuuri paused mouth of the odd passage, feeling trepidation as he squinted into the darkness.

“A moment, please,” the lord murmured. He was only a few feet into a seemingly small room and was fiddling with something beside him. Yuuri heard the sound of a match being struck and then light flared as the lantern in his hands came to life. 

“This must have gone out during breakfast,” the lord said.

The room was perhaps the size of a closet, and was lit by the single lantern that hung on a hook at Yuuri’s hip’s height. It was paneled in the same white as the hallway and had the same light colored wooden floor. But next to the lord was a tall lever that stuck out of the floor and a heavy rope with knots at intervals ran from the ceiling to the floor. When Yuuri stepped in he saw that the rope not was not only the height of the room, but it actually went through elegantly trimmed holes in both the ceiling and floor.

“Please close the door behind you,” the lord said, one gloved hand wrapped around the rope. “It has a tendency to get drafty in here.”

“What kind of room is this?” Yuuri asked, doing as he was bid. The small closet was the oddest thing he had seen yet in the manor. He wondered what its purpose was and why they were to be shut inside.

“It is a,” the lord started, but then paused in thought. “Actually, I am unfamiliar with its name in Alensian. Servants use them to take food and bath water up and down stairs.”

“A dumbwaiter?” Yuuri asked, looking around in astonishment.

“Dumb-waiter?” The lord repeated, blinking. “Truly? What an odd name. I would have never guessed that. Alensian is such a strange language at times.”

“They’re usually smaller,” Yuuri said, wondering if they should both be in it at one time. “Made for trays of food and ah, a bottle of wine.”

“Yes, well. Everything in this place is large.” The lord said with a shrug. “It was made for a servant and a heavily-laden cart or two. I had it updated several years ago. See the rope here? It used to require the strength of a very strong man indeed to haul things up. It is now weighted as the curtains on a stage, and requires little strength at all.”

With that, the lord clicked the lever into place and with his other hand, pulled on the rope. Yuuri nearly lost his balance in alarm as the entire room rose smoothly up in the air. Palm pressed to the smooth panelling of the wall, he steadied himself. In front of them, the interior of the hall panel sank from view and a plain, wooden plank wall took its place as they rose.

“I apologise,” Lord Nikiforov said with a bit of mirth, continuing to pull them up with ease. “I should have warned you.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri said, face warming. In earnest, he was rather eager to be out of the small room that was suspended in the air.

“I remember being surprised at first too.” The lord said as they rose. “But is this not ingenious? Even if I were to let go of the rope we would only sink a few feet before the weights would suspend us again.”

“Ingenious.” Yuuri agreed, discreetly wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. “But please refrain.”

Yuuri was too preoccupied to notice the lord’s small laugh as they rose to the second floor.

The lift entered directly into the library. Yuuri had to remind himself not to let his mouth gape open at the sight of the two stories of glass-fronted bookcases that stood from floor to ceiling. Many comfortable looking pieces of furniture were grouped together throughout the large room and a fireplace as massive as that in the dining hall stood at the far wall. Several tall candelabra stood near the furniture and lent their light to the warm, cozy atmosphere of the room. A long, rounded bay window with a built in bench overlooked the front of the estate. Three full-sized adults could have easily reclined on its cushions. Yuuri thought that it was easily his favorite room in the manor.

Toward the back of the room an ornamented wrought-iron spiral staircase rose up to another sitting area. Any wall space was covered by bookcases, except above the fireplace, where a large portrait of a young couple was hung. The parlor Yuuri had been taken into the night previous was just off of the main room and was used as a study.

When the lord began to take them back to the lift, Yuuri politely excused himself to the stairs, much to the lord’s amusement. They rose from the balcony in the foyer and were easily accessible from the library.

As the library was two stories tall, the next floor was four stories high, and was the floor Yuuri was the most familiar with. The lift was located just beside Yuuri’s bedroom, and the rest of the floor was made up of similar guest rooms. They were all fine, but were rather indistinguishable from each other. Yuuri was glad he had one that looked out over the front of the estate and the valley, for the others looked south and directly into the forest. As in the hallways on the first floor, fine antiques, portraits, and sitting areas lined the corridors. 

They met again on the next floor. Lord Nikiforov explained that his chambers were at its center and showed Yuuri to his cousin’s room, the last bedroom in the hall, located at the back of the manor. The other rooms were the schoolroom where Yuri did his studies, and butlers’ chambers. There was a sitting area in the corridor at the front of the manor, near the lift.

As head butler, Orlov was always on hand for Lord Nikiforov. His apprentice, Hans, had a room next to his, and as such, he had followed his movements daily for the past two years. He was also on hand for all of Yuri Plisetsky’s needs.

As they stood near the lift the lord explained that below the only other places were the basement and the highest floor. He said that beneath the foyer was a ground-level floor, and that those rooms were of little import and were made for storage. They had no windows and were not regularly used. He had only been down there once, and that was when he was a boy.

“I will show you upstairs another time,” the lord said as they finished their tour. “The staff are doing some work up there currently, and it will be unavailable for a while.”

Yuuri nodded his agreement, and they agreed to meet back in the dining hall on the first floor.

When they arrived the dining table had been cleared of their breakfast and a surprisingly long line of people stood in front of the fireplace. It seemed like a lot to Yuuri, but he supposed it took many staff members to run such a large estate. Lighting the candles in the evenings was likely a large job in and of itself.

The men stood with their hands clasped behind their backs, and the women with their hands folded in front of them. They were of a variety of ages. Some looked to be of Yuuri’s parents’ age, while others looked to be as young as Master Plisetsky. The men had crisp white cravats and the women rounded white collars. Most of the women wore white caps over their hair. All of them were dressed in black.

Lord Nikiforov took Yuuri past them and they came to a stop near the windows on the far wall before he began to address them in Threnian. Firstly, he thanked them all for their time and introduced Yuuri as the new governor under his employ. Feeling a bit put on-the-spot, Yuuri bowed stiffly. He was used to informally meeting a staff member or two in an informal setting, as introduced by a housekeeper.

“We are not the most formal household,” the lord told him. “We only stand on ceremony when needs must. Feel free to omit titles as you see fit.”

The lord then introduced Orlov, who was first in line, as his personal butler and head butler of the manor. The second in line was an older, stern-faced woman named Marta, who was the head housekeeper. Then four maids curtseyed as they were introduced. The youngest two were very young indeed, and both wobbled as they did so. Yuuri nodded to each of them in return. Once introduced, they excused themselves from the room.

Yuuri was then introduced to the head coachman, his two stable hands, and the head gardener, and his two undergardeners. Yuuri nodded to them in greeting and they excused themselves as well. 

Then were the kitchen staff. The two cooks were twin sisters, both not quite the height of Yuuri’s shoulder. They were small, ample elderly ladies in plain aprons and they had scarves over their white hair. They had been whispering to themselves, giggling, and making shushing noises between the rest of the introductions.

Unlike the rest of the staff, they smiled warmly at Yuuri when introduced. Their names were Anna and Ella. Yuuri couldn’t tell them apart. 

They both curtsied and then shook Yuuri’s hand with strong grips, saying things completely incomprehensible to him in friendly, albeit loud voices. They patted him on the back and seemed to congratulate him. Their words sounded similar to Threnian, but apart from a couple of pronouns, they were completely different. Yuuri smiled politely and glanced down at the lord.

“Ah, Anna and Ella are from a village in the mountains north of here,” Lord Nikiforov explained. “They don’t speak common Threnian, but rather, a local variant.”

“And you can understand them?” Yuuri asked.

“Of course,” the lord smiled and said something back to the ladies. 

The two tittered and curtsied again, seemingly utterly charmed and doting of the lord. 

“They have been kind to me since I was a lad,” the lord said, smiling warmly at them. “Sneaking into the kitchen for a sweet and coming out with a meal of pastries. They say that they miss my constant poking around in their kitchen.”

Yuuri kept a polite smile on his face as they had an unintelligible though short and merry conversation before moving on.

The scullery maids were two young girls. The one with hair frizzing from beneath her white cap looked to be in the years between older child and young adult. The other had two golden braids trailing over her shoulders, and couldn’t have been any older than Master Plisetsky. After they were introduced, the kitchen staff excused themselves and left through the door that went out to the kitchen. Orlov came to stand near them as they finished the introductions.

Lastly was an extremely tall, broad-shouldered young man who had slipped in late. He seemed to have a strong build, and instead of having fair hair like the rest of the staff, his was tightly coiled and was a vivid red. The pale skin of his face was almost entirely obscured with a mottle of freckles, and his eyes were of a warm brown. 

He looked down at them with a curious gaze. He was easily over a full foot taller than Yuuri. Yuuri thought he looked quite young to be as tall and broad as he was. To Yuuri’s surprise, Lord Nikiforov started gesturing rapidly with his hands as they were introduced.

“This is Hans,” the lord said, his hands making quick gestures. “This is Orlov’s grandson and apprentice.”

The man bowed formally to Yuuri. Surprised, Yuuri did the same.

“He came to the village with a travelling merchant when he was a young lad, and was taken into their family. We believe he was originally from one of the western cities.”

Lord Nikiforov paused as Hans gestured something to him.

“Yes, likely from the south-west part of Threnia.” He said. “As far as he knows, Hans has never been able to hear, and thus, uses hand-speech. We hope he may one day learn to read and write as well. As it is, he can spell his name but naught else.”

Lord Nikiforov looked over at him.   
“If you don’t mind, Hans will be your butler. He also attends Yuri.”

“I don’t mind,” Yuuri said, glancing at the man in question. “But it may take me a while to learn hand-speech.”

The lord blinked.

“I can lend you some reading material on the subject,” he offered after a moment of silence, seemingly surprised. Then he began to make gestures again.

Hans smiled at him widely and Yuuri nearly stumbled when the young man patted his back in a friendly manner and gestured back to the lord.

“Hans says he is delighted. Do you have a gesture you would like to use as your name?” the lord asked once he had replied.

Yuuri looked at him in surprise.

“Mine is,” the lord said, then acted as if he were tipping an invisible hat.

“Hmm,” Yuuri thought for a moment, then pressed his palms flat together and opened them as if he were opening a thin book. “How about that?”

“That will do,” Lord Nikiforov said, smiling as he relayed the information to Hans.

After the introductions concluded Yuuri excused himself to his rooms. He settled under a blanket, in his chair by the fire and began to put together some plans regarding his new pupil. He spent an hour jotting notes in his journal and making some tentative decisions using the information he had garnered. Yuuri determined that the situation would require a firmer hand than he usually used, but with their timeline he knew they could not afford to dally until the boy was in an amicable mood. He would have to act, and he would have to do it presently. 

Plans settled firmly in his mind, Yuuri went to find the boy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get to know our characters a bit better in this chapter. As always, thank you for your support!

In direct contrast to his earlier outburst, Yuri Plisetski was mute when Yuuri presented him with the bread roll. The boy crossed his arms across his chest and looked away, but Yuuri saw him eye it from the corner of his vision. His hair had been re-brushed into a perfect curtain. Despite his boorish attitude, he maintained perfect posture where he sat by the hearth in his bedroom. 

Like his cousin, his skin was fair, but his hair was the color of stalks of sun-dried rice. Yuri was a small-statured child whose feet didn’t reach the floor when he sat, and he looked years younger than his age. Rosy-cheeked and dressed in an immaculately embroidered, slim-fitted white frock coat with a cravat of fine lace, he seemed nearly doll-like. The pout on his face did nothing to dispel the illusion. Yet instead of baubles, his room was full of books. The space was immaculately clean and there was not a single toy in sight.

One wall of his room was lined with naught but books written in Threnian. Some were about politics, some history, but many seemed to be fictional novels. Yuuri had read many of them in Alensian. Two bright windows flanked the stone of the hearth and a built-in bench sat beneath two larger windows in the corner. Their curtains were thick and were of a burgundy velvet, embroidered with tiny golden birds. They had been drawn fully open and white daylight streamed in from above the bench. 

Where he stood near the door Yuuri could see snow-dusted pines out of the window. A desk sat in the far corner, near the single bed, closed in curtains that matched those adorning the windows. Yuri was in one of the two chairs in front of the fireplace. They were of the usual size and made the boy look all the more diminutive. Though they bore the usual creases of wear, the white leather of his boots was clean and unscuffed, and each button was fastened. If nothing else he seemed to be a fastidious child.

Yuuri sat in the other chair. He then offered the boy the bread roll and was once again, promptly ignored.

“Master Plisetsky, I believe neither of our first impressions were well made,” Yuuri said quietly in Threnian. He repocketed the roll. “I am Governor Katsuki. I was hired to make sure you are well versed with everything you will need to know to pass the  _ Kathik _ .”

Yuuri ignored the boy’s responding scoff. 

“You may wish to dispel the notions you have already fixed on me.” Yuuri said.

The boy said nothing in response.

“Despite not being formally introduced, I can tell that you are smart for your age.” Yuuri went on. “I would be willing to bet that you were more intelligent than many of your peers and that they don’t even know what they lack. I could also believe that your past governors have disappointed you in one way or another, and much to their detriment, have also greatly underestimated you.” 

Again, the boy remained silent, but his head minutely tilted toward him. He sat rigidly still. He was definitely listening.

“I am not similar to any of your past governors.” Yuuri said, allowing himself to show some fervor. “I can tell you wouldn’t appreciate them, so I won’t sport with your intelligence by mincing words. From now on, there will be no charade of lectures and examinations. Nor will there be condescension. We simply do not have the time for such triviality. We need to begin your studies immediately. Once you have demonstrated that you know a subject well, we shall move on to the next. The workload will likely be more rigorous than you are used to. We shall start with a combination of essays and reading. Then we shall move on to presentation.”

Slowly, the boy turned his head to look at him. His expression was guarded, but serious.

“Master Plisetsky, I firmly believe that if you can read well, you can write well.” Yuuri said, leaning forward. “And if you can write well, you can speak well, and for a lord, speaking with intelligence is the goal. Each of these are the tenets on which the education you will require is built. Keep whatever you have learned from your teachers in the past, but ready yourself, for the education you will have in the next few years will be markedly different.”

The boy said nothing, but fixed him with keen attention.

“I know I need not remind you what is at stake.” Yuuri said. “I am neither your nanny nor your guardian. I will not tidy your life as a maid might do a room, nor will I hold your hand and pull you through this. As your governor, I merely hold educational tools. Some of which you already have, and some of which you will require to achieve your goals. Regardless, it is up to you to use them. The outcome of your future is your own responsibility.”

The boy regarded him with a solemn expression. 

“Now,” Yuuri clapped his hands together and sat up straighter. “The very basics. We must start on a solid foundation. First and foremost, if you are to be a lord, you can no longer afford to speak or to conduct yourself as a child. I do not care what you call me in your free time, but while I am acting as your governor you will address me as such. You will also refrain from demonstrating your colorful vocabulary in public, and that will include Lord Nikiforov.”

“Viktor isn’t the public.” Yuri muttered, beginning to look cross.

“And yet, I don’t believe you are the best of friends,” Yuuri said dryly. 

The boy gave him a look that could have curdled milk.

“I thought not.” Yuuri said. “Anyone who is not your particular friend should be treated as an acquaintance. And acquaintances are part of the public. You will especially need to maintain decorum in front of the staff, perhaps save for your own butler, if you wish.”

Yuuri held up a finger when the boy opened his mouth to argue.

“They say that a chain is only as strong as its weakest link,” he said. “If you cannot be liked by your own household, you will never win the favor of higher ranking nobles. And should someone of great importance be apprised of your poor behavior, it will reflect on your future quite poorly. The staff may have professions you deem as dull, but they are not stupid, and they speak of what they wish, as much as they wish, to whom they wish. And that alone can be used as your tool, or it can easily become your hobble.”

The boy gave him another cross look but didn’t seem to have the adequate ammunition to refute his statement. He sat mute, with his brow furrowed and his arms crossed across his chest. 

“If you’d like, you can think of this as a challenge,” Yuuri said. “A choice issued to you alone. Should you fail, it will be because you have deigned not to try. But should you choose to accept this challenge, I will ensure that you will have everything you need to pass the  _ Kathik _ .”

Yuri simply looked at him, still silent.

“Do we have an accord?” Yuuri asked, offering the roll once again to the boy.

Yuri hesitated for a moment, pale blue eyes looking from the roll to Yuuri’s face and back. Then he snatched it out of his hand.

“Fine,” he said, taking a large bite. “But I still don’t like you.”

“Then it is most fortunate that is not a requisite of your education.” Yuuri replied. 

The boy squinted at him and took another bite. 

“But I will speak to Viktor how I wish when we are in private.” The boy said in a haughty tone. ”He is my cousin.”

“Family affairs may be discussed behind closed doors,” Yuuri said in concession. “But it always does a person credit if they are kept civil.”

The boy exhaled a long breath through his nose and scowled at him. Yuuri remained patiently silent. 

“Fine,” the boy said at length, taking another large bite of the bread roll. “When do we begin?”

“Right now.” Yuuri said brightly, then stood. “Please write an essay on everything you know about the philosophy of morality in Threnia. It should encompass several philosophers, ranging from antiquity to the modern century. In your writing, you may reference philosophers from other countries if you wish. It can be of any length, as long as it is fully comprehensive. If you prove that you know everything necessary about this subject, we will merely reference it in the future and move on.” 

Yuri stared at him with a vaguely horrified look on his face. One cheek was stuffed comically with bread and his mouth gaped slightly open.

Yuuri kept his countenance, but had he been a lesser man, he would have failed to keep a straight face at the sight.

“You may use any resource you have available.” Yuuri said with a polite smile, gesturing to the boy’s bookcases. “As we had a late start, this will be your only assignment today. I will read it tomorrow morning, after breakfast. Tomorrow afternoon we will meet in your usual classroom and begin in earnest. I trust you know where to find me in the guest quarters, should you have any questions.”

Yuuri quitted the room before the boy could pull together a sputtering rebuttal. He smiled broadly to himself as he closed the door quietly behind him.

The day only grew more and more dim. Yuuri spent the rest of it comfortably, under a blanket by his hearth, reading the material of the  _ Kathik _ and cross referencing it with an older Threnian encyclopedia. The lord had been kind enough to have them sent to his chambers after their conversation that morning.

Yuuri paid special attention to the sections regarding the Threnian government. The  _ Kathik _ ’s edition seemed to be printed yearly and was fully up to date. It indeed encompassed everything from mealtime manners to formal dancing, and from world history to advanced mathematics. 

“This, I can do.” Yuuri murmured to himself, leafing through the heavy book. Making intelligent conversation with the lord of the manor seemed to be nearly impossible for him, but once studied, the subjects in the book were perfectly within his realm. 

Yuuri was so engrossed barely noticed when Hans brought a light lunch into his chambers. It may have been chicken, but Yuuri ate it and otherwise paid it little mind. The material covered in the  _ Kathik  _ was interesting, and much of the information about Threnia was new to him. He jotted down notes while reading the government and economic sections.

Most of the once-strong aristocracy had fallen into poverty as the country’s more modern and powerful neighbors industrialized. Though once a kingdom, Threnia became an oligarchy, still ruled by the once-royal family. In an attempt to join the more powerful neighboring countries, Threnia had signed a treaty that dissolved its old monarchy. Thus, the oligarchy had taken its place. While the country was fairly dissatisfied with the current oligarchy, they were also fiercely traditional and distrusted foreign practices like communism, socialism, and democracy. The royal family remained in power due to their celebrity-like popularity and the country’s lack of interest to change tradition. 

Yuuri hummed as he wrote some more notes. He didn’t think the once-royal family had done a bad job. They just didn’t have very much to work with, as it appeared that the national government had little effect on the day-to-day life of most Threnians. The cities, towns, and villages were mostly managed on a local level.

It seemed that while many of the rest of the countries around Threnia had advanced in the past century, it had not. Threnia was indeed a vast and rural country. Compared to Alensia, it had few large cities, and they struggled to keep up with the industrialization of the smaller, more powerful countries around it. It lacked both their resources and infrastructure. There were no national railways and few reliable roads. Due to this, its rural areas were almost completely composed of those native to the area. The culture seemingly reflected that as well.

The new invention of the motorcar, while common in Cafon, didn’t fare well on the roads in Threnia because they were overall poor, pockmarked with holes, and utterly unsuited for their fast speeds and narrow wheels. Yuuri had experienced the poor state of the roads first-hand. Threnia’s population was mostly lower-class and was mostly rural. Few families owned anything more than a horse-drawn cart. The people of the quiet country seemed to distrust the noisy, smelly, dangerous machines.

Threnia was always cold, with a very short summer that barely thawed the ground. Only the capital of Threnia, Volanov, had electricity. As the international economy changed and the Threnian currency waned, there are few of the great families of the aristocracy left. 

“Like the Nikiforovs,” Yuuri murmured, writing. “I wonder how many estates like Runovia have fallen into disuse?”

Halfway through the afternoon he set the reading material for the  _ Kathik _ aside and began tailoring the details of his plan for Yuri’s studies.

He had chosen morality as an essay topic to begin with for a few different reasons. The first was because he’d attended lectures on the morality of several different cultures when he was a student in Cafon. He was familiar with the subject and would easily be able to fact-check the completed essay with his own reference material. Secondly, as the boy’s manners were lacking, Yuuri wanted to make sure that they had a firm foundation to build on, so he would know not only how, but  _ why _ he must act as a gentleman should.

As per the boy’s previous schedule, they would meet after breakfast, pause for a lunch that they would take in their schoolroom, and then they would continue until they were finished in the early afternoon. Depending on the subject, Yuri would spend the later afternoon and evening writing and referencing the material that they had covered. It was considered his free time to study as he wished.

Two afternoons a week the boy would visit the village in the valley below for ballet lessons at the Baranovskaya School for Young Gentlemen. He was too young to attend its courses as a regular student, but after hearing about the boy’s interest, Headmistress Baranovskaya had extended an invitation for ballet lessons to the lord’s ward. The Young Gentlemen’s school was much like a finishing school, and taught boys after they had passed the  _ Kathik _ . If he were fortunate, it would be where young Yuri was destined to live while he completed his education. 

Weather permitting, every other weekend Yuri would be escorted by the head coachman to the outskirts of Volanov to visit his grandfather. Yuuri made a note to ensure that there would be an assignment for the boy, should the weather be poor or if it was not one of his traveling weekends.

The room darkened as the afternoon waned and his fire was little more than embers when a light knock came from his door. Startled, Yuuri looked up. The clock on the hearth read that it was a quarter past six. 

“Come,” Yuuri called, stretching his arms out. He hadn’t moved in several hours. His small lunch had worn off and he was hungry.

The door opened a moment later and Hans ducked through the doorway.

Yuuri watched as the young man made a few gestures. Yuuri caught both his and the lord’s name in the gestures, but the rest were a mystery. Hans smiled and pointed at the clock.

“Ah, yes. Forgive me,” Yuuri quickly marked his place in the book and stood. His legs protested at the sudden movement and he paused to stretch. Then he tugged his jacket on and straightened his collar. Despite Lord Nikiforov’s informal nature, it wouldn’t do to have supper with a lord in just his shirtsleeves. He felt very lucky indeed that the lord paid him any mind whatsoever.

“I didn’t realize the time. Supper must be ready.” Yuuri said.

The man just bowed again and Yuuri followed him to the dining hall.

“Thank you for joining me,” Lord Nikiforov greeted him as he sat. “Yura is taking supper in his room. It will just be us this evening.”

The lord was ever more handsome in the glow of the dining hall’s candlelight, Yuuri decided. It was a thought he seemed to have each time he saw the man. But at the moment he looked particularly fine. His light hair shone in the warm candle light and he seemed to be in a good mood. It really was a wonder he didn’t have a wife that was just as lovely.

The thought caught Yuuri by surprise and he immediately dismissed the notion.

“It is my pleasure,” Yuuri managed. “I apologise for my tardiness.”

“Pay it no mind.” The lord assured him in a warm tone. “I have not been waiting long.”

Then steaming bowls of what seemed to be spinach and cream soup were placed in front of them, along with some thick pieces of toasted bread. 

“You look none the worse for wear after meeting with Yura,” the lord said, tearing his bread and stirring his soup with it. “I take it the encounter was not wholly awful?”

“I’m still in one piece,” Yuuri assured him. “I mostly just told him my expectations and that we will be on a tight schedule. He’s probably working on his first assignment this evening. In the morning we shall see if I took the right tack. I don’t know him very well yet, so it was a bit of a gamble, choosing what he might respond to.”

The lord hummed in reply and they began to eat. 

They spent the remainder of the meal quietly speaking of Alensia and Cafon, of trade and of industry. Yuuri learned that the lord was very knowledgeable about many subjects and used to travel frequently when he was younger, before he’d inherited his father’s estate. 

He liked the  _ nouveau _ style of Cafon’s fashion industry and loved the white wine from the southern reaches of Alensia. He only cared to eat game when it was part of a larger dish, he preferred honey over jam on his bread, and he had yet to figure out his favorite tea, as he liked far too many to ever pick a single one. Though he didn’t get a chance of it anymore, he hated long carriage rides and despised traveling alone. 

Yuuri loved listening to his lightly accented Alensian and found it charming when he misworded a sentence, asked if he was making proper sense, and readily corrected himself. He wondered how long it had been since the lord had practiced his Alensian, as he seemed to be the only person in the household who spoke the language. They had an easy, relaxing meal with comfortable conversation. For the first time since he’d left Cafon, Yuuri finally felt relaxed. 

“But then the horses saw the dog and bolted,” Yuuri laughed lightly into his napkin. “And we spent an hour chasing them down the alleyways, in the rain. Pichit lost every single one of his handbills and we were not only hopelessly late to the meeting, but were pathetically soggy as well.”

Desserts were placed in front of them as they laughed into their napkins like schoolboys. The desserts seemed to be a kind of cream custard topped with dark red berries and drizzled with golden syrup. Yuuri tried a spoonful of his. The syrup was as sweet as he’d expected, but the berries were surprisingly tart.

“Your friend Pitchit is the doctor?” Lord Nikiforov said, eating some of the custard and pushing the berries to the edge of his plate.

“Yes,” Yuuri said. “He is practicing in Cafon, but is researching yet another speciality. This time it is something regarding human pathology. He changes his mind so often that I simply can no longer keep up. Personally, I believe it has something to do with which of his colleagues are currently visiting the city. They do some ground-breaking research, find a cure or a link to something or other, and then move on to another university.”

“He sounds like the most remarkable individual.” Lord Nikiforov commented, setting his dessert aside and pouring himself some coffee. 

“Indeed, he would be,” Yuuri agreed. “If he would not forget his pen, his meeting plans, or his own boots, for that matter.”

They continued to speak long after they had finished both their desserts, and the coffees that followed. 

Yuuri noticed how the lord’s face tended to pink when he was amused, how his gaze grew bright when he told a lively story, and how his Threnian accent became more noticeable when he was excited about something. 

They stayed in the dining hall well after they’d finished their meal and then parted amicably in the hall. As Yuuri walked he thought that he would like every meal to be as agreeable as his supper had been. The lord was a fairly talkative man, but though Yuuri felt like he knew his dining preferences, he knew nothing of his past.

When he returned to his rooms Yuuri found that Hans had drawn a bath for him. He sighed as he sank into it, still unused to the luxury of its size. He could comfortably sit upright and still have the water come up under his chin. Once again he reflected how much better it was than using the wash basins he was used to. If nothing else, he thought to himself, he could wash his hair without getting water all over the floor.

Viktor’s Nikiforov’s hair was perfect in every way, he mused as he scrubbed soap through his own. He seemed to have few faults indeed. He was just the kind of person Yuuri wanted to talk to until he grew hoarse. It was like when he’d first met Pichit, in their dormitory kitchen. They’d stayed awake the entire night talking and had to furtively pinch each other awake during their orientation lecture the next morning. 

He was unused to spending so much time with the guardian of a student. He had rarely seen his past employers and had spent his meals and free time either alone or alongside the rest of the employed staff. Yuuri was unsure why Lord Nikiforov seemed to treat him as an honored guest rather than part of the hired help. Perhaps it was a Threnian custom, or perhaps the lord was merely bored and wished to practice his Alensian with a new acquaintance. The thought that they seemed to be becoming friends was an odd one, but was not unwelcome in his mind. 

He snuffed the candles and went to bed early again that evening. 

Yuri promptly thumped a thick, hard-bound journal beside Yuuri’s breakfast plate as soon as he reached the dining hall the next morning. It rattled his half-filled teacup on its saucer. Both Yuuri and the lord paused their meals to watch as the boy walked to his side of the table and flopped down into the dining chair. His hair was uncombed and his cravat loose and askew. He quickly ate his porridge with the gusto of someone half-starved and then devoured a roll without bothering to butter it. So engrossed in his task, he seemingly took no notice of their stares. When he nearly nodded off into his empty bowl he excused himself and quit the room without a word.

Lord Nikiforov watched him leave with his brows raised. The smudge of darkness beneath his eye was nothing compared to the bruises that had sat beneath the boy’s. Yuuri looked down at the book and idly wondered if he’d slept at all.

“Just how long of an essay did you assign him?” The lord asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I didn’t define a length,” Yuuri said, and as his curiosity took hold of him, opened the book. The book was at least half full of neat lines of tiny cursive script. “I asked him to write a comprehensive essay about Threnain philosophy of morals.”

He startled when the lord snorted loudly into his teacup. Wide-eyed with alarm, Yuuri immediately offered him his own napkin. It was a knee-jerk reaction honed only after years spent with children and their unexpected sneezes.

“Goodness, forgive me,” the lord continued to laugh as accepted the napkin and patted coffee from his cravat and coat. Then he dabbed the corner of his eye. “Please pardon my behavior. I--hah. I am sure Yura took that assignment as not only a personal offense, but also as a challenge. What a good show!”

“I’d hoped to engage him,” Yuuri began.

“And engage him, you did!” The lord laughed. “It is a simple enough subject to research, but to ask Yura to write anything comprehensively, well.”

Yuuri tilted his head in thought. The lord stirred some more cream into his coffee.

“I’m sure he took it as a provocation to write more intelligently than his textbooks. He is always going on about their grammar not being just so, and how their indexes could be more conveniently arranged. You sir,” the lord pointed his teaspoon at him in a friendly gesture, “Are in for a lengthy read.”

“I don’t expect it to be difficult.” Yuuri said, baffled at why a long read would be a problem for him.

“You should expect it to be dry,” Lord Nikiforov said with a sly glance, then chuckled again as he sipped his coffee.

The essay was indeed dry, Yuuri soon found out. The boy’s grasp on grammar was excellent and his knowledge of the subject seemingly inexhaustible. His references were well cited and overall, it was written as well as if it was done by a university student. Yuuri read through it, made some notes in his own journal, had lunch, then read through it all a second time. Then he tucked the book away and went in search of the boy.

He found Yuri in his room and laid out on the bench beneath his windows, propped on a pillow and fast asleep. Weak sunlight filtered through the overcast sky and the boy’s fair hair gleamed in its light. He woke with a jump when Yuuri closed the door behind him. 

“Your essay on Threnian morality was excellent.” Yuuri said, allowing the boy some time to gain his bearings and tuck the errant hair away from his face. “I believe we can study the timeline of state conflicts during antiquity a bit more thoroughly, but the rest we needn’t repeat. You write well, so we needn’t cover any basics concerning that topic.”

Instead of following his original plan of meeting in the schoolroom next door, Yuuri assigned him another comprehensive essay on the much more narrow topic of Threnian current events from the past five years. He would need to verify with Lord Nikiforov that what the boy would write was correct, but it would show him how well Yuri paid attention to the happenings outside of his own house. The extra time would also allow him to catch up on his missed sleep. Yuuri knew first-hand how the amount of sleep a student had correlated directly with the quality of notes taken during a lecture.

Lastly, he asked Yuri to spend a week composing an essay on his plans after the Kathik and his future goals. He stressed that the timeline of a week wasn’t so he could write an overly lengthy answer, but rather so he might spend the time reflecting on what course of action would best serve his future plans. The boy sputtered when Yuuri told him that the assignment would need to be both written comprehensively but also be under ten pages in length.


End file.
